The Beginning
by AAnnR
Summary: Mello's eyes narrowed. I could see the gears turning in his head, his blonde hair shifting as he bent forward. "At least I'm not fake." I snorted, fighting back a laugh. "You're not fake?" He hummed, "No. At least, not like you. No, you, " He practically hissed, smirking. "You're obviously a fake...a nobody just floating through." AAnnR (Arc 1: In Progress)
1. The Project Arc: Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Not only do I not own Death Note, but I have not participated in the development or creation of its franchise. Therefore, I can only say that these characters, apart from my OC, are borrowed for unprofitable consumer enjoyment._

**The Beginning**

**By: AAnnR**

**Story Arc 1: The Project**

**April 8th, 2004**

_**Chapter 1**_

My eyes fluttered open, grogginess fogging my sight. My gaze traced the slick, unblemished plaster above as I un-stuck my tongue from the roof of my mouth. _Had the ceiling always been that color?_

I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand, scraping dried eye crust from the rims. I shrugged, yawned, and rolled over, tugging the heavy covers of my bed over my head. I curled my legs up to my chest, basking in the warmth.

A clean smell was wafting from the sheets; Mom must have recently changed them. I took in a deep breath, reveling in the scent, a memory pulling at the edge of my consciousness, and I closed my eyes.

Pine and maple trees in fall, the forest's light musk floating through the air. My father's deep and guttural laugh intertwining with my mother's light tinkling giggles, their hands laced together by fingers and palms. My mother's hair matched the burnt orange of the fall leaves, twisted back to keep from falling in her face. He pulled her further into the woods; he showed her the way; he steadied her with his strength.

Faintly, the door clicked open, throwing me from my dream. I groaned softly, yearning to continue my shattered delusions a little longer.

"Miss Flian." A deep, crackling voice broke through my dream. I attempted to bury myself deeper into my nest as the aged voice continued, "Would you consider eating something today?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to move. _Please, just leave!_

"I see." He coughed, the sound muffled. "Well, if you do happen to become hungry, there is food in the kitchen."

I whined quietly as he closed the door; his footsteps descending down the hall. Even just the mention of food ignited a warm hunger in my belly.

My eyes had begun to drift close again in hopes of reclaiming my stake in the world I had been rudely pulled from. I grumbled at the man for interrupting my dream, frustration and annoyance ringing through my head. _Why couldn't he have waited a few more minutes?_

A logical part of my brain sang out, its tone defiant to my emotions: _He's just concerned for me._

Concerned.

Why couldn't people just mind their own business? Was it too much to ask for the world to ignore me?

I threw the blankets off, my eyes watering for a moment at the sudden temperature change, and continued my grumbling. I wouldn't be able to fall asleep again for a while. The brief escape I had found was gone, leaving me with only a taste of a memory.

The bed squeaked, my weight rolling to the edge as I sat up and flung my legs over the side. The ground was so cold and so unforgiving, I contemplated rolling back into bed. But I refused to give into my petty whims; I wouldn't be able to find the previous comfort in the depth of sleep now that I was reminded of, well, everything.

I crossed my arms, rubbing them with my hands. Goosebumps rose on my skin as the coolness of air conditioning assaulted the miniscule amount of warmth my skin had managed to soak up from the comfort of the blankets.

The room was elegantly decorated. Warm colors accented the furniture while the walls were tastefully adorned with beautiful paintings. It was spacious; the furniture was pushed against the walls which created a large space to house a plush, red rug.

The dark brown floorboards creaked as I walked across the room to the open closet. I dug through the lone cardboard box, rifling through belongings and clothes before I procured a tattered hoodie and faded jeans from the unorganized mess. Stripping off my borrowed negligee and tossing it onto the bed, I pulled on my clothes, eager to finally wear something of my own.

But dear _God_, I needed a shower. I felt the grime on my skin as I pull on my clothing and shivered.

Dressed, I gathered my hair to the side of my head, sliding my fingers through the knots. I was careful not catch my fingers on my left earring. I couldn't remember the last time I'd pulled a brush through the tangled strands; it was probably some time before my arrival. I grabbed the lone hair tie from the top of the dresser and bound my hair into a low, side pigtail before stuffing the long strands into the neck of my hoodie.

I peeked out the door, glancing down either side of the hallway. It was deserted, thank God. I carefully shut the door behind me and began my journey down the hallway.

Large, paned windows lined one wall. The navy blue curtains shrouding them were pulled back to allow natural light to grace the corridor. On the opposite wall were dark brown doors, the wood matching the floorboards and paneling. Each of the doors bore a light wooden plaque, names etched and hand painted into each one. In the spaces between the doors hung paintings, each displayed a scene of nature.

The hallway was long and wide with the morning sun painting a bright atmosphere. The air seemed to ooze spring and laughter, the trees and bushes outside bearing thick foliage, the grass as thick as a carpet. Several hordes of children played in the sunlight - running, walking, and climbing.

I turned away from the windows, instead finding a semblance of comfort in my lone shadow moving along the wall, its legs and arms impossibly stretched out.

The hallway turned right, meeting with the grand staircase before dipping to reveal a beautiful entranceway. A maroon carpet lay in the middle of the marble floor below, sitting before two massive, wooden doors.

Bracing myself against the banister, I made my way down the stairs. I tilted my head back to gaze at the chandelier. Silver iron twisted into dangling crystals that caught the light and formed glittering, eye catching rainbows. I smiled to myself. Shifting my sight back down to Earth, I tucked my hands into the hoodie's pockets.

The kitchen was down a corridor to the right of the staircase behind a set of dark, wooden, revolving doors. Silver, stainless steel appliances were accented by dark, wooden cabinets and black marble counter tops.

I entered the kitchen and saw Heaven on a platter. A basket of confectioneries sat in the middle of an island. My stomach growled at the sight of food. I snatched a couple, hiding them in the pocket of my hoodie, before opening and rifling through the refrigerator. The appliance was packed to the brim with fruit, vegetables, and bottles of various liquids. I shoved an apple into my pocket before continuing my search. A piece of cheese in the back of the refrigerator caught my eye by looking incomparably delicious.

"Ahem," someone coughed behind me. I hit my head underneath the shelf of the refrigerator and hissed in pain. Holding the back of my head, I turned around.

In the doorway stood an elderly man, his hair was salt-and-peppered, and a thick pair of glasses were nestled against the bridge of his nose. Deep lines decorated the edges of his face. It was obviously the product of years of intense emotional and trying circumstances.

His eyes twinkled with amusement. "Did you get hungry, Miss Flian?"

I grunted in response, stuffing my hands into my pocket to protect the result of my fridge raid, before nudging the door of the refrigerator shut with my foot.

He nodded to the exit of the room. "Perhaps you would be willing to accompany me to my office?"

I frowned, bringing my hands up and gesturing.

"No, no." He shook his head. He raised his arms in a gesture of negation. "Definitely not in trouble."

I shrugged again, tucking my hands back into my hoodie. He held the door open for me before leading me to his office a bit farther down the hallway. The plaque on his door was similar to the ones on the second floor, the etching and paint making out a single name: Roger.

He again opened the door for me, and I stepped inside, admiring the uniformity of his office. The desk was strategically placed in the middle of the room before a large window looking off into the courtyard where the children continued to play. Bookcases lined the walls, and old tomes were spread to allow room for pictures and dusty trinkets. Two chairs sat before the desk, settling on dark brown wood.

"Please," Roger walked passed me to get around his desk, "take a seat."

I did as I was told. Taking one of the pastries I'd grabbed from the fridge, I took a bite. It was delicious, a sweet mix between banana and vanilla.

Roger shuffled through the drawers of his desk, pulling out a file. He opened it, searching through the papers and mumbling to himself. "Birth certificate. School records. Family records. Health... Ah, here we are," he stated, setting the paper to the side before closing the file. Roger straightened and took a quill. He dipped the tip in a small vial of ink. He began writing onto the paper he had pulled out from the file; his glasses fell down his nose as he bent over.

I sat back, finishing up my pastry, and licking my fingers to clear away the icing stuck on my skin. Fishing another pastry from my pocket, I hummed at the new flavor as I brought it to my mouth and took a bite—this one held an apple filling.

"Ahem," Roger cleared his throat again, catching my attention. He set the nib in the ink bottle and pushed his glasses back in place before settling down, his forearms and elbows on the table. "So, Miss Flian," He began, his deep voice light and pleasant. "Do you understand where we are?"

I nodded. We currently resided in England—even I could understand that, most of the children around the mansion spoke in heavy accents with intense diction.

"Good," He nodded. "England has such beautiful country. The towns are widely placed. The closest one is about twenty miles north."

I started, the pastry in my mouth becoming tasteless. I dropped the baked good on the ground in my hurry to move my hands, creating hand signals and shapes with sticky fingers. "So far?! I thought we were close to London!"

Roger shook his head, his glasses sliding down again. "Certainly not, Miss Flian." He pushed his glasses further up his nose, fixing their position. "We're about two hours from London."

I slumped in my chair, my head falling into my hands. Now what was I to do? I needed to be able to get to London. London would have information, clues, leads…and I had no way to get there.

"Now, Miss Flian," Roger's voice had lost its light, jubilant tone. "What's wrong?"

I sat up, my fingers signing the words to him, "I want to find my parents."

"We understand that, Miss Flian," Roger's eyes crinkled in the corners as his face split into a smile. "We have the best looking for you parents. There is nothing to worry about."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't trust the police."

"Now, who said anything about the police?"

* * *

_**Edited 1/21/2015:** This story was edited by a wonderful beta by the name of gamegirl07. She is truly wonderful and fixed a great many things wrong with this chapter!_

_**Edited 1/31/2015:** Also joining the team of editing and making sure my writing is not grammatically inferior is Artificial Identity...In addition, a beautiful idea guru is making sure the characters (especially the OC) stays out of the Mary-Sue area, Grace-Logan. So, effectively adding a tentative three wonderfully intelligent writers to my beta helpers - where would I be without them?_

_**Edited 7/1/2015:** Edited with the help of the wonderful Mr. 'TheNotSoTalentedPoet'. Big thanks to him!_

_**Edited 7/5/2015:** InkstainedHands1177 went through and edited this to fix minor thing and tell me their opinion!_


	2. The Project Arc: Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Sometimes I wish I could have the talent and discipline to create a manga this beautiful...instead I creating a work based off of something I do NOT own._

**Story Arc 1: The Project**

**April 8th, 2004**

_**Chapter 2**_

"Now that that is out of the way," Roger picked up his quill again, rubbing the nib against the lip of the ink bottle before settling it above the paper. "Tell me something about yourself."

I stared at him, "What?"

"Oh, anything dear." He smiled. "This is your time. We can talk about anything. Or everything, if you prefer." He set the quill down, leaning back in his chair, chuckling as if he were enjoying some private joke. "Some of the children use the time to vent, others for a sympathetic ear. A few just ask questions for research assignments."

I nodded, taking in the information. I was hesitant, but I still wanted to talk about my parents, so I moved my hands, creating the symbols for "I miss my Mom and Dad."

Roger nodded, his expression becoming grave, "I am very sorry." We sat for a moment in silence, the words hanging in the air.

I remembered, for a moment, the disgust I still had for that phrase. The words didn't solve anything, only serving to rip open the wound in my heart further. I was sorry. But being sorry implied that, being involved, you solve the solution using your mutual understanding of feeling and acceptance. Roger wasn't sorry, he pitied my circumstance.

"I dreamt of them last night," I sighed, bitterly refusing to look at him. "They were walking in the forest, holding hands."

"A memory?" He leaned forward, writing on the piece of paper.

I shook my head from side to side, desperately wishing it had been real. "Just a dream."

"Did they talk?"

I shook my head again. "Just walked." How I missed the voices of my parents.

"I see. It must have been nice to see them again."

Irritation rose in my throat, remembering his interruption earlier this morning. Had he not, I could still be in bed, watching my parents.

"It hurt more than anything."

I didn't blame Roger, and a logical part of my brain informed me of my inability of doing so. It knew where the dream would have turned—my beautiful dream, so full of love and memories, morphing into nightmares of. . .

I closed my eyes, allowing my hands to move on their own. "I wish I could see them again. I want them to be okay, to be safe—but something in the back of my head is telling me that they couldn't be, not after. . ." My hands froze, I couldn't allow myself to express this feeling into words.

"Of course," The voice was solemn, the deepness reverberating throughout the room. "It's normal to have doubts, but I'm sure they will find him."

I blinked at him, "How do you know that? Can you guarantee it?"

Roger chuckled, "Not only can I guarantee it, but I can wager with you. I'd bet my life." I felt a weight lift partially from my shoulders as he leaned forward, his quill resting in his hand, forgotten, ink dripping onto the desk. "Do you want to know a secret?"

I nodded, leaning forward. I felt silly, leaning as if he were going to whisper something scandalous into my ear.

"The person working on your case is a world renowned detective, named L."

I scanned through the list of names in my mind. I signed an 'L' to Roger, "Who would have a letter as a name?"

"Yes, Miss Flian. L." He nodded to my sign. "The greatest detective in world. His success rate is one hundred percent." Roger leaned back and began writing on the paper before glancing to the side. "Oh my." He squinted at the clock on the wall. "I have a meeting in a couple of minutes; would it be alright to end it here?"

"Yes sir," I signed, but on the inside I had so many more questions . . . there was so much that he still hadn't told me.

"Excellent. Don't be a stranger. If you need anything come straight to me. I'm almost always here." He stood, showing me to the door. "I expect you back in my office tomorrow tonight, at seven, please."

I nodded, glad to have the opportunity to come back to talk to him again.

He smiled, "Good, good!" Then the door closed, and I found myself out in the hallway.

Thoughts flew through my head. Who was L? A part of my brain provided the information Roger had given: L was the greatest detective in the world. Someone Roger thought could find my parents.

Happiness flowed through me at the thought, warming my heart as I walked down the hallway back to the grand staircase. If it were true, I would be home with my parents before I knew it! I felt a smile creep on to my face as I saw the familiar glow of the chandelier, and I rushed to stand beneath it, watching as the glittering lights danced above me.

I threw my head back to stare straight up into it and spun. The rotating lights were dazzling, small beautiful stars that circled around before my eyes. I giggled, basking in the simple pleasure this action brought me.

For a moment, I was reminded of laying beneath a Christmas tree, looking up to watch as the stranded lights sparkled. I could practically smell the pine—

"Hey, asshole!"

Something rammed into me, knocking me to the floor. I cried out as I fell face first, the hardwood painfully connecting with my nose. I stayed still for a moment, allowing the shock to go through my system.

Laughter echoed through the entrance way as feet pounded away. I hissed, clutching my face in both hands, attempting to gather myself from the floor.

God, what hit me? A train? I whined, the noise moving through my throat and nose, tweaking a damaged nerve; it grew quickly into a full blown headache. Frantically, I touched beneath my nose, searching for liquid and sighing in relief when I found the skin dry.

"Fuck, what the hell?!" A masculine voice lilted upwards, his voice breaking. I whipped my head around, searching for the source.

He was sprawled across the floor, clutching his head. Long, golden hair fell down around his face, the strands cascading through tanned fingers. His long limbs were confined in a loose tee and dark jeans, which hugged his frame.

"Fucking Matt!" He growled, flipping his hair back. Blue eyes glowed with anger, his features etched severely into a scowl. His glare pierced into me, "Who the fuck are you?"

I felt my temper rise. I shrugged, making to stand, wanting to put as much distance between me and the boy as possible. Why was he angry when I was the one who had been plowed into?

"Fuck you, don't just ignore me."

I huffed, rolling my eyes at his language and began to climb the staircase, using the banister for support.

"Hey, bitch!" I peered over my shoulder, watching him as he jumped up and strode up behind me. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, walking away from me?"

I continued up the stairs, his footsteps following along behind mine.

"I'm talking to you!"

I stepped onto the landing, turning to walk down my hall.

"Don't just walk away!" Was it possible to find a voice more piercing? The decibel made my head pound, the sound pulsating in my ears. My feet went faster, trying to carry me away from the boy trailing behind me.

"God, what are you? Mute? What the hell is—" A hand caught my shoulder, but I was already spinning around to face him, stunning him to silence mid-sentence.

I began gesturing wildly, my hands flying in front of his face, forming symbols. "Your language is offensive. Knock it off."

For a moment his eyes widened, not knowing what to make of what was happening in front of his face. Then, as his eyes flickered with recognition, his scowl crawled back onto his face.

"So you can hear!"

"Ya? Good job, goldilocks. What gave you a hint?"

"Fuck you," He crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side, squinting at me, his blue eyes calculating. "Then you should be able to talk, if you can hear me . . . tongue-less?"

I shook my head. Frustration replaced the happiness I had felt earlier and deflated my good mood drastically. "It's none of your business."

"Everything is my business," He crossed his arms, a smug smile stretching across his face.

I shook my head, "Like you could make me talk."

His grin turned devious. "You want to bet?"

"No." I frowned and walked away, eager to escape his arrogance.

"Secrets don't make friends, _Miss Flian!_" He called after me. A shiver raced up my spine. I froze and then whirled around but found no boy standing at the top of the stairs.

* * *

_Edit 1/25/2015: This edit has been brought to you by the magnificent gamegirl07. I am eternally grateful for the work and dedication she has given to make this chapter that much closer to perfection._

_Edit 7/5/2015: InkstainedHands1177 edited this chapter, fixed small imperfections and such! Go read what they have, their writing is awesome!_


	3. The Project Arc: Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Sometimes I like to sit back and imagine what my would be like if I was rich...then I come back to reality where I own nothing but a computer and work my butt off at school. But if I did own Death Note - or was at least was rich - I'd have others write fanfiction for me so my adventure would never end._

**Story Arc 1: The Project**

**April 8th, 2004**

_**Chapter 3**_

My head pounded; my veins thrummed painfully. Frustration coursed through me, the boy's voice on repeat in my head. My name. He knew my name. I hadn't told anyone my name—save for the police and Roger. How could he have known it? I thought that information was classified. I signed a contract saying I wouldn't give it to anyone. It was the only stipulation, the only rule upon coming here: give no one your name.

The way he had used my name, the way the syllables had rolled off his tongue, his tone interlaced with the words made me uneasy. Something told me he knew more than he should. Or at least he thought he knew something. But how?

I could only think of two ways: he overheard Roger calling my Miss Flian, or he somehow had access to Roger's folders.

I shook my head, the pain in my skull increasing with the sudden harsh movement. The happiness I had before was gone, zapped away by the stick of a boy who had plowed into me. I needed to be careful around him. The world was turning dangerous - especially with the recent rise of Kira.

My nose still stung a bit. I could feel the dull pain pulsating. I sniffed, testing the airway of my nose, surprised to find it still clear.

I continued down the hallway, the brightness of the morning sun had faded into an orange afternoon. Someone had opened up the windows lining the walls. A warm breeze floated through the hallway. The laughter from earlier had faded away, replaced by the singing of cicadas. It was nice, beautiful even, in its own quiet sort of way.

The sound drew me in, easing the pain of the headache, the tones ignited my body like a soothing balm.

I couldn't remember the last time I was outside.

A week ago?

A couple days?

Perhaps it had only been yesterday, but either way it seemed so long ago. Like another lifetime. A different me.

I craved to feel the sun kiss my skin with its rays. I yearned to roll in the grass and bask in the subtle scent of the earth.

I turned, walking to the window to lean out of it into the sunlight. The breeze felt good against my skin. It trailed through the my hair, pulling a few strands from the confines of the thin, black, elastic band binding them together.

Despite my earlier irritation, I could feel myself becoming calm. A lightness re-entered my body; the boy wouldn't matter anymore when my parents were found, so there wasn't a real need to dwell on him. I shouldn't be here longer than a month at the most.

I stretched up, the sill of the window digging into the skin of my hips, the bare pads of my toes pressed against the cool wood of the floor in my effort to taste the outside. I could see into the thick line of trees that boarded the property of the mansion. It was expansive, the trees gathered together to make a dense jungle, a sea of forest green meeting the deep azure of the sky.

Clouds swam between the two, floating along in sparse clumps. For a moment, I entertained the idea of being one with the sky, a bird or a cloud, and I sighed. I could watch from above as everyone went about their lives, laughing at their idea of problems. It'd be so easy not to care, to drift anywhere in the world. One day Paris. The next London. The next New York. I longed to have that luxury. A glimpse. A moment.

"Your atrocious singing is very distracting."

My hands barely caught the sill of the window as I pitched forward, startled out of my reverie. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins, I yelped as I found myself staring at the rose bushes laying two stories below. My hands hurt as they gripped onto the window sill, my legs locked straight to balance my body and prevent me from going over and falling two stories.

I pulled myself back, momentarily seeing stars, blood rushing to my ears as my feet finally made contact with the floor. I panted, still staring at the ground.

That was close. My heart pounded in revelation at my almost death.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to frighten you," a soft timbre voice said.

I shook my head, my headache returning immediately with the movement, indicating to him that it wasn't his fault. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to will my heart to calm its cacophonous beating.

I glanced over, pulling myself away from the window, and saw him standing a little ways from me. He stood, arms crossed over a green t-shirt, his left hand toying with the strands of his dark brown braid. Khaki shorts went to his knees, exposing thin, tanned calves and slim feet in sandals. The boy's facial features were soft and feminine, the edges rounded by brown wavy bangs. His golden eyes were large, encased by thick eyelashes like two jewels atop a thin nose and a small mouth.

He was so beautiful. There was no way he wasn't a girl. Boys didn't exist that looked as feminine as he did.

"Um, is there something on my face?" He cocked his head to the side slightly. But then, while soft, the deepness of his voice was unmistakable. Definitely a boy.

I shook my head side to side.

"Well, anyway, I came over to tell you that I have a headache and that your singing was distracting, but—" he looked slightly uncomfortable. "My headache has vanished."

Shit! I thought and slapped a hand over my mouth. What the hell was I doing, singing in public? Fuckfuckfuck-

"But the comment still stands," the boy looked a bit more determined. "You probably shouldn't sing out in the corridor."

I nodded, forcing a smile on my face. Play it off, my subconscious told me. I slipped my hand from my mouth and tucked them into the pocket of my hood.

The boy smiled, his golden eyes warming. "I'm Drew. Who are you?"

"I'm Heather."

"I can't read sign language." The boy looked a bit embarrassed. "I didn't get to the orphanage until after they had dissolved that class."

I shook my head, smiling. I hadn't meant to jump to the conclusion that he would know the language, but the previous boy had known it, so I had slightly assumed. And then, for a moment, I was shocked; I almost just gave away my name. I wanted to slapped myself.

"But who are you?" Drew pursed his lips, skepticism creeping onto his face. "I haven't ever seen you on the grounds before." He leaned forward, stretching out a thin arm to grip the windowsill. "You didn't sneak onto the premise, did you?"

I shook my head, the strands that had been freed by the wind fell into my face. How do I explain that I was new to someone who wouldn't understand me?

"What? So you're new?" I nodded eagerly. His features were sharp and intent, as if he were trying to see into my soul to decide whether or not I was lying. He sighed, retracted his arm, and started playing with the ends of his braid again. "I'll believe you, for now. And until I learn your name I'll just call you B until we can communicate, okay?"

I must have looked confused, because Drew laughed. "It's because you're staring at the sky singing, like a goose who had broken his wing."

I sighed and smiled, snorting through my nose. I guess that'll have to do.

"Anyway, I have to go to class! I'll see you later, B!"

* * *

_**Edit 1/26/2015:** The wonderful gamergirl07 helped in editing this chapter...isn't she amazing?_

_**Edit and Added 07/02/2015:** Went though and edited some grammar and added a bit more detail._

_**Edited 7/5/2015:** InkstainedHands1177 edited this chapter to make it even more wonderful!_


	4. The Project Arc: Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: This is not my sandbox, I've just commandeered it for my own personal use._

**Story Arc 1: The Project**

**April 8th-9th, 2004**

_**Chapter 4**_

I felt increasingly run down, despite the fact that it was only a small ways into the afternoon. I retraced my footsteps back to my room, looking for the door that did not hold a wooden plaque. I opened the door then closed it before I flung myself onto the bed, breath rushing from my lungs as I bounced.

Drew seemed to be a pleasant boy, his demeanor kind. Even though he could not understand what I tried to convey, he made an effort to have a conversation with me.

I smiled, _a friend already made._

* * *

"Are you ready for the exam, Miss Flian?" Roger sat at his desk, his elbows propped up, his fingers joined together before his face.

Instead of the two chairs that used to be in his office, I was directed to sit at the single desk placed opposite his own. Mostly made of metal, the desk looked as if it had been dragged from a public school classroom. I glanced at the small pile of papers laying on the surface of the desk; a single pencil rested in a carved indent at the top.

I ran my tongue across the roof my mouth, tasting sleep. Only moments ago I was asleep in my nice, warm bed. The events of previous day seemed to have taken a toll on me, and I slept through the rest of the day, missing my appointment with Roger. Roger, being the kind soul he was, came in search of me later and found me asleep; he woke me and led me to his office.

"Begin when you're ready."

I nodded, yawning before shaking my head to rid myself of the remnants of sleep. I picked up the pencil, the happenings of yesterday still echoing through my mind. The logical part of my brain froze my thought process. Focus. You have other things to worry about right now. I took a breath and closed my eyes, letting the problems slip away. I could do this, all I needed to focus on was the test.

I opened my eyes and concentrated on the test. I began the test.

I scanned the first problem. Then the second. The third. The fourth. Fifth. Sixth. I flipped to the end, read the last question.

I snapped my eyes up to Roger. Dropping the pencil, I gestured with my hands. "What is this?"

Roger, his eyes twinkling, leaned back in his chair. "It's the test you must pass to remain here, Miss Flian."

I rolled my eyes, "I already knew that." I frowned, glancing at the test, rereading the last question.

12) What is the name of this institution?

"Please, Miss Flian, there is no talking during a test."

I vented a laborious sighed, placing my head in my hand and propping my elbow up on the desk. I turned the packet of pages back to the beginning.

1) _hat is your name?

Beneath it I wrote: "Heather Renee Flian".

It irked me to find the 'W' missing from 'what', there was an obvious space left for the letter. To ease my unrest about the missing letter, I filled in the 'W' myself.

2) _ge?

I scrunched up my nose at the letters. What the fuck? Who the hell wrote this test? How the fuck was I supposed to do this test with letters missing?

I sighed; I needed to calm down. This was a test to determine whether or not I could continue to have refuge while my parents were. . . shit.

Test. Test. Test. Torture Established by Sadistic Teachers.

I grit my teeth and forced my attention back to the question. "ge"? "ge"?

I looked back up the first question, to the first word missing a letter. The second question must then, obviously, be missing a letter. Or maybe a couple of more words? I mentally started to growl.

But what letter could it be missing? "ge". The question mark was close enough the back of the 'e' that another letter would be impossible to squeeze between, but the same amount of space was missing from the beginning of the 'ge' as was missing from between the number of the question to the "hat". The letter must belong there.

Then I mentally groaned, instantly knowing the letter.

I filled in an "A" in front of "ge", creating the word "Age".

Beneath the question, I wrote in "fourteen".

3) _other's na_e?

I scoffed, as if they could trip me up with this one when the pattern had already been established. Obviously, from the previous questions, there was a letter still missing that belonged in the space. I filled the blanks with an "M" and wrote beneath the question "Sharin".

4) Father's na_e?

I filled in the missing letter in the gap and wrote in "Ted" beneath it.

5) If _ou could change _our name, what would it be?

For a moment I contemplated the question. Change my name? But I liked my name. It was beautiful, a name from my grandmother's middle name. But still, I contemplated, what would I change my name to?

As I thought, I filled in the "Y" before the "ou", wanting to continue with the pattern I had already started.

I ran through so many names. Jenny? My Aunt's name was Jennifer; it held enough significance. Then I sighed. It didn't sit right in my stomach to call myself the name of a living relative, or one that I had little to no contact with.

Rachael was my best friend before I moved to England . . . but that didn't seem right either. That was her name, not mine. I rifled through girl names in my head, but I came up dry.

Who said it needs to be a girl's name? The logical part of my brain supplied. The thought held some truth, but no. I didn't want a boy's name. I needed something more, something that would belong to only me.

I wanted to be me, not my grandmother. Not anyone, just me.

It felt wrong to think this way. Perhaps I was being selfish, but I wanted something that told of what was happening to me, this new beginning in the middle of the chaos my life was outlined with.

My thoughts jumped to Drew, the boy I had met following the emotional destruction of the blonde. He had named me "B"—

Then I knew.

"Beginning" I wrote.

I knew it was weird to write down a name that might not have been traditional, like Jenny or Rachael. But somehow, this seemed like a small victory, and it wasn't like I was going to have to be called "Beginning".

But if I did, I would shorten it to Begin, I thought, smiling to myself.

6) What do you want to be when you grow up?

I read through the question again. No errors. No spaces. This line was completely fine. What kind of game was the writer of the test playing?

I focused on the question, there wasn't much a child of my specific nature could do. Perhaps I could be a translator, but even then it wasn't as if I was deaf.

Underneath the question I wrote "TBA" and tried to continue on to the next question:

7) _ow many languages do you know? If more t_an one, please list.

I read question 7, the missing letter was back. I looked back to question 6. Something wasn't right. Why continue the charade now? I shook my head and filled in the missing letter, writing beneath question 7 "one", praying I wasn't required to already know a language other than English.

Did sign language count as a language?

I looked up to Roger. He was leaning over his desk, writing with his quill on a piece of paper. I cleared my throat, trying to catch attention.

"Miss Flian, I don't want to have to tell you again." He glanced up, his tone laced lightly with warning.

I signed my question quickly, "Can sign language be considered a language?"

"Of course, it takes supplemental study outside of your original language to learn it." I nodded my thanks before he hunched over to continue his work.

I turned back to my test, quickly erasing "one" and scratched "two". Next to it I wrote "American Sign Language" and "English".

8) H_bbies? Name as many as y_u can within the space bel_w.

I filled in the "o's" before filling a small list: reading, sleeping, and singing.

9) Wo_ld yo_ do anything to achieve yo_r goals?

I could, depending. Logic sang in the back of my head, You would do anything to find your parents.

"Yes" I wrote, knowing I would do anything if I could find my parents. I filled in the "u".

10) _ubject_ you've already _tudied.

This question was probably the easiest so far. Beneath the question, I filled in the courses I had already had in high school. Following my completion of the question, I filled in all the blanks with a "s".

11) Do you b_li_v_ in God?

To be honest, I didn't know anymore. I wanted Him to be real, but I refused to believe that God would allow for my parents to be. . . I sighed. Up until recently, I had been raised to be believe in Him, so why not now? Just because one thing went wrong? Beneath the question I wrote "yes".

Finally, the last question:

12) What is the name of this institution?

What was the name of this place? I'm sure I was told it; perhaps at the beginning of my stay, back when I wasn't entirely coherent?

You still aren't entirely coherent, A small voice in the back of my head quipped.

I wracked my brain. Why was it that I managed to come up with demeaning comments about myself, but I still couldn't retain information regarding the place I was residing in? Just yesterday I had been appalled at the information that the mansion was far away from any type of civilization, shouldn't I have remembered if I had traveled that far?

I scolded myself silently; I prided myself on the ability to be attentive, but the answer eluded me.

The name. The. Name. Name? Name!

I glanced around the room, tracing the words along the spines of the books on the shelves lining the right side of Roger's office. Titles and authors, nothing stuck out as important. The pictures didn't display anything other than their own beautiful landscapes within the frames, definitely not a clue to the mystery.

I turned my attention back to my test, flipping it back to the beginning, again. I read through the questions, looking for something, anything towards a hint.

What about the spaces? A voice sang in the back of my mind.

The spaces, the places for letters. Most of the questions where missing a specific letter.

1) W.

2) A.

3) M.

4) M.

5) Y.

7) H.

8) O.

9) U.

10) S.

11) E.

Wammy House. Could it be that easy? No, there's no way; but I didn't have anything else. So I wrote the words beneath question 12 and sighed.

_Please be right_, I pleaded to the test.

I stood, picking up my pencil and packet.

"Done?" Roger asked, pushing his glasses up. I nodded, and he set down his quill to grab the papers I extended to him. He flicked through the pages, his eyes moving as he read. Then, as he finally turned to the last page, Roger smiled. He placed the packet on his desk and stood, squaring his shoulders and folding his right arm behind his back. He bowed, his left arm extending dramatically: "Welcome to Wammy's House, Beginning."

* * *

_**Edited 1/27/2015: **My wonderful Beta gamegirl07 has edited this chapter, please give her the best praise imaginable!_

**_Edited__ 7/5/2015:_**_ InkstainedHands1177 edited this chapter...they've made some additions to it that I am very pleased with!_

* * *

A/N:

A special thanks to my first reviewer for the story: lucifae! I'm glad you like the story and I hope to meet all your expectations!

Another shout out to the few who decided to follow and favorite it! It fills me with happiness when readers enjoy the story.

I'm sorry about the shortness of the previous chapter, I needed to introduce a couple of pieces of information and I couldn't fit them in the earlier chapters without making them sound really awful. To make up for it, I've made this chapter much longer.

I'm eager to know what you guys think!

With much anticipation,

AAnnR


	5. The Project Arc: Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I hope to grow-up and own a series this beautiful...but until then, I just going to keep writing things based on other's ideas._

**Story Arc 1: The Project**

**April 9th, 2004**

_**Chapter 5**_

"So that's it?" While a wave of relief washed over me, I couldn't help but feel apprehension slithering its way into my heart and laying a seed of doubt.

Roger smiled, catching my hand movements as he rose from his bow. "Precisely, Miss Beginning." He opened a drawer to pull out a small envelope. Extending his hand, he motioned for me to accept the package. "Here is your room key, I hope you've taken a liking to the room you have been residing in. When you return there you will find a pile of clothing; they are yours."

"I already have clothes." They wouldn't have thrown away my clothes, right?

"Of course—and you are welcome to wear them—but it is customary for children of this house to be provided with clothing. Most children who come here do not have much and must be provided with basic amenities."

I nodded, understanding.

"Additionally, you will begin classes on Monday, three days from now. You are expected to perform to the best to your ability. Textbooks will be delivered to your room in the morning."

"Classes?" A heaviness settled over me at the prospect, "Will I be here that long?"

"We do not know how long your stay will last. So, while you are in our care, we will provide you with as much as we would a permanent charge." He must have seen something in my face, because Roger sighed, before moving around the desk to pull me into around hug. "L will find your parents, don't worry."

He smelled of mint and coffee, and his tweed jacket scratched my cheek as I nodded into his chest, sinking into his embrace.

After a moment he pulled back and met my gaze with a kind warm smile. "You must be starving! How about I show you to the dining room?"

I nodded, releasing him. Honestly, I wasn't all that hungry. Even though I had slept more than twenty-four hours, all I wanted was to lay back down in my bed.

He guided me out of his office and down the hallway towards the main entrance. The other side of the expansive chamber held the opening to an equally large room. Several long, dark wooden tables ran parallel to the sides of the room. Handfuls of children, ranging in various ages, sat on cushioned benches in small groups. They talked lowly, the clinking silverware rang above their murmur. On the far wall sat an equally long table, layered with trays of food.

Roger clapped me on the shoulder, startling me. "Grab a plate, eat, and make some friends!" He gently pushed me forward, setting me into motion.

The murmuring of conversation and the clinking silverware stopped; I could feel their eyes on me. I turned back towards the entrance of the dining room, hoping Roger would smile and say: "Just kidding!" However, when I turned, I found he had slipped away.

Slightly unsettled, I spun back around, keeping my head down. I tucked my hands into the pouch of my hoodie, absently realizing I must not have changed my clothes yesterday as my hands brushed against hard crumbs nestled in the seam.

I walked a straight path to the buffet table that was along the back wall. Aromas saturated the air as I got closer; my stomach growled. Taking up a plate I absent mindedly ladled food onto the plate, plucking silverware from a side basket at the end.

Steam from the food wafted into my face as I made my way down to an empty area and set my tray down. I slid onto the wooden bench and bent over my tray.

Picking up my fork, the cool metal resting comfortably within my fingers, I plunged the spikes into the steaming portions of food on my plate. Bringing it to my lips, I closed my mouth around the food, pulling the metal out as my lips stayed clamped closed.

The food tasted heavenly, but I couldn't bring myself to eat. My stomach was restless. The unease that I felt caused my throat to clench, preventing me from swallowing.

In the end, I spat the food into the napkin I had grabbed from a basket on the table.

"Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise?" Drew slid into the seat next to mine, placing his tray on the table. "As you are still here, I can only assume that you passed the test." Like yesterday his hair was flipped over to the front side of his shoulder in a braid, the end tuffs disarrayed, as if he been toying with them. His clothes were the same as yesterday's, an emerald green tee-shirt with khaki shorts and sandals.

"Been assigned to classes yet?" He flicked his braid back over his shoulder and settled a napkin across his lap.

I shook my head. Roger hadn't talked to me about which classes I would be taking, only that they would be starting on Monday.

Drew took a bite of his roll, chewed, and then swallowed. "I wouldn't worry about it...they'll have it taped to your door by Monday."

"I don't sign up for them?!" I signed, my hands moving frantically as my fork clattered to my plate.

"Whoa!" Drew exclaimed, shaking his head. "We really need to get you some sticky notes, that way we can communicate."

I nodded, of course I had to be acquainted with someone who couldn't understand sign language. There were many questions I wanted to ask. What was happening? Why couldn't they have sent me to a school in London? Who was L? What was this school? However, instead of finding answers to these questions, I was stuck in the mess hall having a one sided conversation with a person who couldn't understand me.

"Anyway," Drew continued. "They choose the courses for you. They always give the ones they know you'll do well in...in fact, I've never had a class I didn't like!"

Well, I suppose that was, in its own way, a relief; but the seed of doubt grew a bit larger. What if I was the one exception?

"You'll adjust quickly to the classes." Drew continued, after swallowing a few mouthfuls of his food. "Their curriculum is intense, but the class sizes are insanely small. You'll get a one on one experience with your professors."

I picked my fork back up, resting the slightly re-chilled metal in the folds of my fingers. I poked at my food with the utensil. At least that sounds intriguing, I thought. And it was true. I hated boredom, so the probability of being one student of thirty in a class seemed like it would increase the chance of boredom. I was certainly willing to try if it meant I wasn't sleeping all day.

Drew rambled on as I half listened. "Wammy House is the most amazing place I've ever been too! The other orphanages were disgusting, and their residents were as intelligent as a rock." He shoveled some more food into his mouth, chewed, and then swallowed. "I've been to five before coming here. Many of the others were transferred to Wammy from orphanages, since their talents and intelligence made them social outcasts." Food. Chew. Swallow. "There's actually a study that's been done by a man named Mustaffa R. Ahmad. It's about the relationship between emotional intelligence and skills competency. He says-"

"YOU FUCKING ALBINO PILLOW!"

Drew's lecture was cut off as an intense shout echoed through the room. We turned our attention to the source: three boys. They were located further to the front than Drew and I, probably just a handful of steps from the door that led to the entrance hall.

I recognized the boy standing nearest to the doors. He also wore the same clothes (all black). This led me to believe that he and Drew, and the whole population of this mansion for that matter, probably possessed several pairs of the same outfit. While he wasn't tall, he was definitely slender. His hair hung at the same length, golden threads encasing two icy blue eyes. He was the boy who had run into me yesterday.

To his right stood a tall and equally slender boy. His back to us, he wore a red and black horizontal striped shirt and baggy older jeans. A random strap was wrapped around the back of his head, making his already messy brown hair insanely hectic.

Between them sat, from what I could see through the barrier of their bodies, a figure enveloped in white.

"You KNOW this is OUR spot!" The blonde's voice, while still loud, had lowered, only raising to drive emphasis to certain words.

A soft murmur rose from between the two boys. "You sit a few steps closer to the door, Mello."

The blonde scowled, his face turning red. "NO! We sit HERE!" He clenched his fists, knuckles turning white. "I don't want to eat anywhere near YOU," He sneered.

For a moment there was silence before the boy in all white spoke again, "There are plenty of seats you can occupy that aren't near me."

"Mello, it's fine," The taller boy moved towards the blonde, wrapping a hand around the blonde boy's bicep. "We can just sit somewhere else—"

"No," He spat out. "I'm not hungry anymore."

"But I am!" The taller boy whined.

The blonde boy glanced at his friend before ripping his arm from the taller boy's grasp. "Whatever." He turned and stormed out of the dining hall; the tall boy, despite his previous statement, followed.

As the boys made their exit the murmuring of the conversations rose again. I heard Drew speak from behind me, "That was messier than usual."

Usual? _Usual._ As in, happen often. _God_, they fought like that often? I sighed, there never seemed to be a quiet moment here.

I turned back, Drew had returned to his food, shoveling forkfuls unto his mouth. "Usually," he started after he swallowed his food. "Matt can calm Mello down enough for there not to be an incident, but today something seems to have upset him." Drew dabbed his mouth with the corner of his napkin. "From what I'm told, Mello hates Near."

Drew gestured with his head. I turned my head, my gaze landing on the lone figure in that direction. "There, the albino? That's Near."

And Drew was right. The boy in white was literally all in white. His hair, skin, shirt, and pants were bleached in the unblemished color. Near sat, his knee pressed up against his chest, the front of his leg resting against the edge of the table. His posture deplorable, he seemed to slouch over his knee as he used his fork to gingerly stab at a piece of food and bring it his mouth.

"The other two were, obviously, Mello and Matt," Drew said, the tone indicating the topic was over.

* * *

_Edited 2/01/2015: This chapter was edited, on this date, by gamegirl07. Being the amazing person she is, she is the one who fixed a majority of the dumb little mistakes I keep on making!_

_Edited 7/5/2015: InkstainedHands177 edited this chapter as well!_

* * *

A/N:

I hope this story's chapter is to your liking. Your love keeps me very motivated...so don't be afraid to share it.

AAnnR


	6. The Project Arc: Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: Do you ever dream that something was real, but then wake up to realize it wasn't? Well, I had a dream that I owned Death Note and then I woke up...apparently I'm only that talented in my dreams. -^^-_

**Story Arc 1: The Project**

**April 9th, 2004**

_**Chapter 6**_

"I'll see you later, okay B?" Drew waved, flashing a polite smile as he left, his sandals snapping against his heels with a sharp noise.

My own smile slowly melted away when he turned the corner, and I sighed loudly. I leaned against the cool dark wood of my bedroom door, feeling overwhelmed. The weight that had risen from my soul in Roger's office suddenly slumped itself across my shoulders again. I wasn't tired, probably a consequence from my sudden, demented ability to sleep for an entire day, and I had no desire to sit around in my room waiting for sleep to drag me under its seemingly blissful folds.

So I pushed off from the door and walked down the hallway, suddenly content to just walk the hallways and explore.

The shadows and dim lights lent the corridor an inky, mysterious hue. The light seemed to pulsate with an indeterminable tempo, flickering against the wallpaper, casting ethereal shadows. With the curtains drawn, the moonlight was stifled, an additional light might have made the air less eerie.

I found my way to the grand staircase, the chandelier dimmed to an almost impossible level. The only real light was coming from wall fixtures mounted along the partitions tracing the lip of the second floor. I followed the path around, ignoring the stairs in favor of the trail across from the corridor opposite the landing. The hallway exactly mirrored the other previous one, the same dark wooden doors lined one side while the windows lined the opposite.

I crossed my arms slightly, thankful that I had on my hoodie. The hallway wasn't cooler—the entire mansion seemed to stay at a constant temperature, even with the windows open—but the backwards familiarity sent a wave of vertigo through my body and felt a headache itch at the nerve of my temple. My bare feet slapped against the chilly floor, the impact sounding much louder now that the mansion was silent.

I passed by a few more doors on my way down the hall, the corridor seemed much shorter than mine, and I quickly came to an entrance barred by large, double doors.

They seemed to be made from the same wood as all the other doors in mansion, but instead of the plain polish on flat grains, this door had an incredibly intricate set of carvings etched into it. I squinted through the shadows. The deepest lines were centered between the doors; the crack between the two doors separated the picture in half, providing a mirrored image. The lines beginning in the middle swooped outward, growing fainter before dissolving into the flatness of the door panel.

I reach up to trace an edge of the picture, its smooth coolness allowed my finger to glide along on its journey unhindered. Such care, I thought. It felt as if the lines were carved too beautifully for a machine to have shaved a designed from wood. No, someone had to have taken the time to sculpt these handsome doors.

I wondered what could lie behind such a beautifully detailed work. Surely this wasn't the entrance to a random hall or room. No, this room had to be important. No other door was this grand, not even the front doors of Wammy House seemed to have this grand an entrance.

I grinned at the thought, sliding my hands to the equally gorgeous metal handles, eager to see the room that these doors hid. I tugged hard, checking to see if the doors were locked, and I flew backwards. My grip slid from the handles, the force sending me to the floor a few paces away.

A narrow trim of light illuminated the ground before the doors, the trail slowly thinned as the doors slid closed. I pushed myself up, wincing at my own eagerness and felt a bit of embarrassment crawl across my cheeks, making them warm. Good thing no was here to see that! Shaking my head, I reached forward and pulled the doors open.

The extravagance of the doors was not misleading to the magic behind it. The wood from the hallway stopped at the entrance to the room, leading to a lush, soft carpet. I curled my toes in it as my gaze flitted through the massive room; it was incredible, certainly much larger than any other room in the entire mansion. Mounted on the carpet, lined up like soldiers, were rows and rows of bookcases. While none of them held the carefully intricate carving on the doors, they were still made with dark, polished wood.

I followed down one of the paths. Rows and rows of books were squeezed into every free space, every nook and cranny, every hole and crevice. The amount of books was prolific, and I found myself wondering just how many books were there in this room.

The path turned right, every so often an opening would appear to lead into a little study nook or another pathway lined with books. I followed along the path I took, staying true to my decision, allowing my curiosity to lead me forward. Eventually, the path abruptly ended, leading into a circular area. Several other path lead to this place and I contemplated on whether or not this was the center of this maze.

The room was certainly less dim than the hallway. Lamps sat in several nooks, illuminating separate spaces in soft light, while a large chandelier, similar to the one hanging in the foyer, rested from an inlaid dome. Across its expanse laid swirling masses of color, starting dark and then fading into light.

"That's the galaxy." A gentle voice lilted behind me, and I turned. He sat, knee pushed up against his chest, transforming a plethora of multicolored Lego pieces into buildings, several of which seemed to be finished. The Legos were stacked into impossibly tall skyscrapers, reaching much higher than he could possibly stand, even with a chair. This impossibility left me slightly baffled, so I waved my hand to grab his attention from his Legos.

"I can see you just fine," He didn't glance up, he continued to stack the miniature building blocks. "So, please continue."

"How did you manage to get these so tall?" I signed, feeling a bit foolish gesturing to him when I wasn't quite sure he was actually watching.

But, true to his word, he answered, "With a ladder."

Perplexed, I looked around the room in search of the object, but the only objects were he, his Legos, and a few arm chairs surrounded by books. "There isn't a ladder here."

"I had the maid take it approximately twenty minutes ago, I had no further use for it." _Click. Click. Click._

Ah. I stood for a while, watching the building grow until it looked as if it were an expansive warehouse or department store. "What is that one supposed to be?"

He was silent for a moment before answering, obviously caught up in his own revelations. "It's an airport."

An airport? He would have to expand that particular building much larger than he was already doing, so I told him as much, but he replied with, "This is the Kansas City International Airport, one of the most efficient in the world."

I blinked, taking in the information before he continued. "The airport consists of four different area for flight: International, Eastern, Western, and Non-public. I am trying to complete the Eastern Building."

Such a tremendous goal, and the buildings were so detailed, pillars and windows and doors and all. "Would you like help? I'm pretty good at following instru—"

"It's not necessary," He interrupted me.

I nodded, feeling a little bit uncomfortable now that I was plainly unneeded. Awkwardly, I watched as the albino stacked block after block, his porcelain hands working with such surety it never faltered from its path, moving fluidly. His other hand was gracefully raised, twirling a thin amount of white hair around his fingers.

_Why am I staring at him?_ I felt my body tense with the amount of awkwardness I felt from standing and watching him build. So, I turned away to take a random path back into the maze, the bookcases quickly encasing me into their embrace.

So many books—titles in various types of writing. Some were evident to the contents, such as The Multi-Theories of the Universe and Their Mothers, while some were much more obscure: The Color of Emotion. I traced the edges of the shelves as I walked, the polished wood cool against my fingertips, until one caught my eye: The Beauty of the Woods. I pulled the book from the shelf, a layer of dust laid on the upper edges of the binding, where the book had been exposed to air instead of sitting against the other books.

I wiped off the dust with the sleeve of my hoodie, finding the binding of the book to be beautiful. Its dark navy suede was texture against my fingers as I pulled them down the spin, leaving a thin, dark trail.

Intrigued, I opened the book to a random page and found a poem, describing the intelligence of wildlife. I flicked farther in, turning to an abstract poem about the life of a tree. I read several more before I replaced the book back on the shelf.

The next book I pulled was bound by a hard, yellow cardboard with frayed corners and titled Me Amour. I flipped through the pages, finding several of them dog-eared and torn. The book was filled with page after page of poems about romance, and I silently scoffed a bit—no wonder that book was so over used!

I laughed and replaced the book on the shelf and continued on my way, following where the corridor of books led me. After a few moments the path spat me out into a small area, again, surrounded by bookcases. The bookcases arched out in a semicircle before coming to contact with a wall holding a red curtain covered window. However, instead of books in the bookcases there were rows and rows of CDs, tapes, records and sheet music. Along the edges of the "room" sat a couple of record players, on the lone table held a small pile of CDs and tape players. Along with the table, several plush chairs sat randomly throughout the space, each covered with its own blanket.

The room's music selection seemed expansive, and, as I analyzed and searched through the massive collection, I found it was rather diverse as well. The time periods seemed to span from medieval to present day, and were categorized from earliest time period to most recent. Intrigued, I picked out a CD from the earlier time periods titled A Collection of Gregorian Chants by Hildeburg von Bilden, then another further down that mentioned something about a tribute to Beethoven.

Taking one of the CD players from the table, I slid the Gregorian CD into the chamber. I walked over to one of the larger chairs, pulled the blanket from where it was draped over the back and pulled it over myself as I sat down in the seat. Reclining, I shuffled to make myself comfortable before placing the headphones over my ears and pressing play.

* * *

_**Edited 2/1/2015:** gamergirl07 has edited this chapter for all of you...I owe her so much already I've only just started on this journey...so much thanks._

_**Edited 7/5/2015:** InkstainedHands1177 is amazing and edited the chapter additionally!_

* * *

A/N:

What do you guys think? I know it's a bit boring, but these chapters need to be written for the sake of character development and setting up the first story arc.

Stay with me and hopefully it will be worth it.

AAnnR


	7. The Project Arc: Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: I don't think the writers of Death Note write fanfiction...but if they did it would be seven thousand times better than this...can you guys tell that I'm jealous of their talent?_

**Story Arc 1: The Project**

**April 10th, 2004**

_**Chapter 7**_

The spray from the shower cap was warm, the tendrils slipping down my bare skin. Having had gone so long without a shower, it was a novelty to scrub myself clean. Usually I neglected such frivolities, but lately, I had noticed the amount neglect my body had been receiving. Perhaps not showering or brushing your teeth for at least a week was a bad idea.

I felt my tense muscles slowly relax beneath the spray—perhaps sleeping in an armchair wasn't the best on my body. I softly groaned, lathering soap onto my skin and hair, the scent easily could have been identified as mint, aloe, roses, or department perfume. I appreciated the cleansing feeling more than the scent of generic shampoo. Humming some random Gregorian chant, I turned the shower off and pulled back the curtain and grabbed the towel I had laid on the lid of the toilet. I wrapped the fluffy towel around my body, moving up to the sink to brush my teeth.

I should do that more often, I thought to myself as the mint from the toothpaste stung my tongue and throat. I was certainly in a more stable place where I could actually take showers, as many as I wanted, for as long as I wanted. I gave a happy sigh; this was Heaven. I spat out the toothpaste into the sink and rinsed the sink and toothbrush with a bit of water from the faucet.

A rush of chilly air rushed past me as I opened the door and walked into my room, the air drying up the moisture from my skin. The light from outside filtered in through thin, see-through curtains. The windows had been opened to allow fresh air. The curtains billowing slightly as the wind traced along the fabric, attempting to gently pull it inside.

When I returned from the library this morning, I had found my room completely clean and unpacked. The box in the closet was gone; the clothes in it cleaned and either hung in the closet or put away in the chest of drawers. They had even gone to the trouble of finding a few beautiful, picture frames for the few photos I had stashed away in baggy in the box. The photos were now resting on the nightstand next to my bed. The desk had been stocked with supplies, and my mini bookshelf was filled with reference books.

Bending over, I took the towel from around my body and wrapped my hair with it and settled it into a high turban. I crossed the room and pulled open the top drawer to grab some undergarments. I quickly pulled them on and crossed the room to the closet and pulled out a dark green hoodie and a pair of faded jeans from the hangers.

After pulling them on, I grabbed a hairbrush from the bathroom and returned to the bedroom to sit on my bed. I pulled the towel from my head. Taking a breath, I started to brush my hair, starting from the end and working my way up. The tips of my hair wetting the fabric of my sweater as I used my shoulder as a backboard to brush my hair against.

I looked around my room. Was this a normal occurrence? People cleaning my room? I mean, I couldn't complain if it was, it was really convenient, but it seemed rather unnecessary. It is an orphanage in a mansion. Of course, they would have enough money for a couple of maids.

Actually, it felt like more of a hotel than an orphanage.

I shrugged and finished my hair. I pulled open a drawer from the nightstand and fished around for a hair tie. Upon finding one, I pulled my hair into a low, side ponytail and tucked it into my hoodie. The wet hair slowly turned warm against my skin.

And these rooms! I sighed, falling back against my bed. Everything about them was comfortable, from the bed to the shower! Even the way the house sat in relation to windows which allowed for the morning sun to peer through and warm up the room. It was enough for you to rise from beneath your covers without getting chilly. It was certainly the type of room I'd never had before, even when my family and I had a home.

_Home._

I could remember a home– one that tasted of love and felt like warmth. I remembered laughter and delicious smells wafting from the kitchen as my mother and father cooked, taking turns with the dishes, talking all the while. I remembered the softness of my mother or the rumbling of my father's chest as he talked or laughed.

It felt like my brain was stretching as it remembered that far in the past, as if my consciousness was going to detach itself from my cranium and float off past the confines of the room and into the clouds. How blissful would that be? Floating. Becoming one with the sky. I closed my eyes, reveling in the feeling, the sun from the window warmed my body—for moment I contemplated on whether this what cats felt like when curled up in a ball on a sunny part of the floor.

"Come on, Elzi!" A patter of feet and a gaggle of giggles reached a crescendo as the children passed my door. "Let's get the others! I want to play tag!"

I jumped in my skin, Kira catching my heart(1). Pressing a hand to my chest, I rolled off the bed. The grogginess that had weighed down my bones was gone. I stretched, feeling my cavernous stomach protest at the torment I put it through.

_Food,_ I thought to myself. I stood up and walked across my room to the door. _That sounds fantastic._

I grabbed the key sitting on the top of the dresser, exited my room, locking it behind me. The windows were once again open in the hallway as I retraced my way to the dining room, hoping there would be food out from lunch.

Much to my dismay, the food from lunch had already been cleared away. Instead, large baskets of fruit, filled with apples, pears, and bananas, sat on each of the tables. My stomach growled; I was actually craving for something more filling. Like a sandwich or some soup. I backed tracked from the dining room and retraced my steps to the kitchen.

The kitchen was the busiest I had ever seen it. A group of people weaved and bobbed around the counter tops, moving pots and pans and plates around. They wore almost identical outfits: plaid pants, white aprons, and light blue chefs shirts. It was much warmer in here than it was outside; it looked like every stove and oven was being used. The pots and pans emitted numerous amounts of smells and sounds.

"Well, hello dear!" A intimidating, elderly woman sauntered up, her wrinkled face warped into a scary grimace of a smile. She was tall and wiry. I could see the tendonsprotrude from her thin, wrinkled hands as she used her apron to wipe them. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, only one piece was out of place and hung in her face in a grey wisp.

"What can we 'elp you with, dearie?" Her voice had a thick accent. Her words were heavily influenced by an Irish brogue.

"I accidently missed lunch." I signed slowly, hoping she would understand. She didn't comment but continued to smile. I took this as a good sign. "Would there be any way that I could get a snack?"

The old woman sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. "We are specifically instructed to not give any o' the children food in between meals. 'owever, there is fruit on the table in the dining room." She smiled again, tucking the loose hair back into her tight bun. "I'm very sorry, lass."

Disappointed, I backed out of the kitchen and headed back down to the dining room. Perhaps I shouldn't have spent so much time in the library; I felt almost nauseous with the emptiness in my belly.

I stalked over to one of the tables and plucked a pear from the top of the stack. Biting into its juicy center, I was amazed to find that it was surprisingly tasty. This managed to dim my disappointment a bit. Real pears were so much better than the cheap canned fruit my parents used to buy for ninety cents. I felt the juice from the pear dribble down my chin as I sucked the delicious liquid from the fruit. I swiped the sticky trail away with the sleeve of my hoodie. The hunger died down as I finished pear. Sadly, my appetite was not completely sated. I grabbed another pear from the basket and immediately began devoured.

"Come on Jean!" A voice called from the entrance hall, feet pounding on the stairs.

I continued to eat my pear, the flesh of the fruit sinfully sweet against my tongue. Curiosity spiked through me. This was the second time today someone was rushing through the mansion. I had been here long enough to gather that this was a regular occurrence. Children often ran around the mansion, giggling and playing. To be certain, I was assuredly not used to random moments of ecstatic, high pitched screaming.

I made my way to the entrance hall in time to see the panels of the front doors swing closed with a loud bang. Intrigued, I walked to the doors and peeked through the window.

A collection of children stood a bit off from the porch. They gathered together to listen to a boy standing in front of them. He, like the rest of them, seem about thirteen. He had cropped brown hair, tanned skin, a dark black shirt, and white gym shorts. But, he had no shoes.

I opened the door, the young boy's words flitting through the air to me. "—the boundaries are a half mile out, okay? We don't need to find anyone in a tree miles away later tonight."

The group of kids giggled while someone cried out, "That was one time!"

I walked outside, closing the door behind me. The kid at the front of the group glanced towards me and waved, smiling. "You here for forest tag, new kid?"

I shrugged, the group of kids turned their heads to see who the he was talking to.

"Come on," a girl with blond pigtails urged. "You'll have fun!"

The crowd of kids exclaimed in agreement, cheering for me to join. A bit self-consciously, I nodded. _Sure. I would play. What was there to lose?_

The small crowd of kids cheered. Several of them coming forward to grasp at my hands and pull me towards the woods. One of the children grabbed the mostly eaten pear from my hand and chucked it into the flower bed.

They were all so cute, most of them shorter than me by a least a foot. They laughed and shoved each other, each one shouting over the other to be heard as they asked me questions.

"Do you like pie?"

"Can you draw?"

"Are you smart like L?"

Truth be told, they were the weirdest questions I had ever been asked. I actually didn't like pie at all. I couldn't draw to save my life. And, I probably wasn't even close to being as smart as L. I forced a thin smile onto my face and lifted my hands to stop them. I signed a reply: "No, to all of it."

We all stopped at the edge of the forest. They got a bit quieter as a small boy with short, light brown hair asked, "What's that you're doing with your hands?"

"You dummy!" A girl behind him flicked his ear. Her cute features were all scrunched up with annoyance. "That's sign language. She was saying 'no' to all our questions." I was slightly shocked, and apparently it showed on my face. Her face scrunched up even further. "Nearly all the kids in Wammy House know sign language. It's only the newer kids that don't." She flicked the boy's ear again. "Like this dummy."

"Hey!" The boy's voice cracked as he whined. He whipped around to retaliate. He flicked the girl on the nose, making her squeal. "I'm not a dummy," he said proudly. "You are!" This automatically started a flicking war, which caused the rest of the children to be attracted to joining in. This, in turn, took the attention completely off of me.

"Come on!" The same little boy, who had been watching the proceedings for quite a while, spoke up. Catching the attention of everyone, he continued. "Let's get this started so we can have a proper game before dinner!"

The forest floor was soft and covered with a thick blanket of grass. For a moment, I contemplated returning to the mansion for my sneakers. However, the rest of the kids weren't wearing shoes, and I didn't feel the desire to be wimpy around children who were younger than me. Yeah, until I get the underside of my foot cut.

I shook my head and focused on the children as they dispersed into the woods. They were splitting off from the main group in favor of solitude amongst the pines and oaks. The forest wasn't that dense; most of the trees were trimmed. Several of them sported large circles from where the base of limbs used to be attached to the trunks. A couple of the kids had already climbed up several of the trees; their faces peered down at me from the thick branches above. How in the world did they get up there so quickly?

I followed a little girl, who looked to be about ten, as stealthily as possible. She led me to a denser part of the forest. This area contained trees that were obviously not well kept. Their branches hung low to the ground. The leaves and thin branches intermingled, forming barriers and created walls of green and brown. The little girl was lithe, her form moving through the forest with such precision that she barely disturbed the foliage. She slipped through the branches with such an ease that I momentarily thought the tree might have been waiting to accept her into its folds. I, on the other hand, fought with the trees, their limbs scratching my skin while their roots sought to pull at my feet and trip me. I made such a racket that I was surprised the little girl didn't stop, push me into a bush, and run off.

We walked and walked, the way a constant battle, for me at least. Eventually, the girl took pity on me and took my hand in hers to make sure I did not fall behind, and I felt my face grow hot from embarrassment.

The girl noticed him long before I did. She pulled me into a glade, before holding a finger to her lips to signal my silence. I had no intention of going against her instructions. She pulled me behind a large tree trunk. We peeked our heads around the tree just as a skinny, tall boy crept into the clearing. He was crouched low, his head turning from side to side; his eyes narrowed.

He was searching for something but what? His prey?

I felt a shiver ride up my spine. What were these kids? Some kind of super humans? This didn't feel like a simple game of tag. A simple game of tag was fun, filled with giggling and laughter. Wasn't there supposed to laughter? Kids screaming out "You're it!"? Bonding?

No, this was much more extreme. It was a test of survival. A competition between the hunted and the hunter.

"I know you're here, Feather." The boy's voice floated through the air, a barking soprano. "You and the new girl."

Feather looked at me and sighed. Her eyes were calculative, no doubt weighting the probability of successfully escaping. I personally didn't see a way out for us. I doubted I could take him on, and I couldn't run as fast her through this forest. She looked at me with a kind of pity in her eyes. Damn, she sure was judgmental for a ten year old!

"Sorry," she whispered. Her hands struck out, pushing me from behind the tree into the dell where the boy stood, waiting. As I fell on to the tall grass, Feather sprinted in the opposite direction, the foliage swallowing her up immediately.

_Oh God_, I couldn't breath. I didn't want to turn around. He was right there. I could practically feel him approaching. I didn't want to be it! I couldn't catch these kids!

I closed my eyes, awaiting the inevitable.

"DINNER!"

A woman's voice peeled through the air.

"Aw, man!" The boy whined. I turned around, the intensity was drained from the boy. "I almost won," he crossed his arms and pouted.

I sighed in relief and laid back, extremely exhausted. The sky had faded in color. The sky was a myriad of pink, purple, and orange. It was as if a talented painter had tasked himself with painting the sky. Was it already time for dinner? Jesus, time flew by.

"Get up," the boy stood above me, holding his hand out. "We have to get to dinner, and I'll get scolded if I leave you out here by yourself."

* * *

_**Edited 02/01/2015:** Edited by the fabulous gamegirl07...is there a way that I can just ship all my love to her in the shape of puppies? Because (assuming I had the funds) I would in a heartbeat._

_**Edited and Added on to 07/02/2015:** I read through this scene and thought it really didn't make any sense. I edited it, fixing some errors in words and grammar and added a lot more details. I like this version more than the last one._

_**Edited 07/05/2015:** InkstainedHands1177 has ALSO edited this chapter to make it more fluid and awesome! _

* * *

(1) - I was thinking that, at this point in the Death Note timeline, there would be several sayings that probably alluded to Kira's influence. Around this time it's about April 2004, so Kira would have influenced much of the world's pop culture already.

* * *

A/N:

What do you guys think? Is the competition too intense, even in a game of tag? Perhaps I should notate everything important in the chapter here...so you guys pick up on it? What do you think? Send me a pm on your opinion...

Love,

AAnnR


	8. The Project Arc: Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: While I do not believe that I have the right to own something this beautiful and magnanimous, I do, sometimes, wish to have the luxury of having the intelligence of creating of something at least semi-complex._

**Story Arc 1: The Project**

**April 11th, 2004**

_**Chapter 8**_

_Dearest Beginning,_

_Your schedule is, proceeding on from this day in, attached to this letter. This is the class schedule we respectfully ask you to follow. Please note that the following courses may require additional extracurricular work._

_From,_

_Roger_

The following page, in beautifully hand-written words, contained the following:

_Class schedule from Sunday, April 11th, 2004 until the completion of the courses as instructed and outlined by each professor._

_Saturday-Sunday: No classes scheduled during these days._

_Monday:_

_6:00-7:55 - Physical Education_

_8:30-9:25 - English Studies_

_9:30-10:25 - Introduction to Advanced Mathematics_

_10:30-11:25 - European History_

_1:00-1:55 - Introduction to the Fine Arts_

_2:00-4:55 - Martial Arts_

_Tuesday:_

_6:00-7:55 - Physical Education_

_8:30-9:25 - Writing_

_9:30-10:25 - Basic Science_

_10:30-11:25 - American History_

_1:00-1:55 - Introduction to the Fine Arts_

_2:00-4:55 - Martial Arts_

_Wednesday:_

_6:00-7:55 - Physical Education_

_8:30-9:25 - Basis of Language - Latin_

_9:30-10:25 - Introduction to Advanced Mathematics_

_10:30-11:25 - Asian History_

_1:00-1:55 - Lesson in Music_

_2:00-4:55 - Martial Arts_

_Thursday:_

_6:00-7:55 - Physical Education_

_8:30-9:25 - Basis of Language - Latin_

_9:30-10:25 - Basic Science_

_10:30-11:25 - Asian History_

_1:00-1:55 - Introduction to Fine Arts_

_2:00-4:55 - Martial Arts_

_Friday:_

_6:00-7:55 - Physical Education_

_8:30-9:25 - English Studies_

_9:30-10:25 - Introduction to Mathematics_

_10:30-11:25 - European History_

_1:00-1:55 - Introduction to Etiquette_

_2:00-4:55 - Martial Arts_

I pressed the tape over the edge of the paper before folding the two papers in half, then half again and stuck them into my pouch. So many classes; I could already tell that I would be kept busy by the course load I would have to carry. From early morning to late afternoon I would be in class—not to mention a good part of those hours were specially put aside for physical exertion.

_And Latin._

Before dropping out of college, my mother had learned Latin. According to her, it was her favorite class. According to my father, it was her only class.

I found myself grinning as I pulled my door closed behind me, the lock clicking into place as I locked to door with my key. This was going to be fun! Excitement pulsed through my veins, and I hummed a lively tune under my breath—finally, an education!

Moving around had produced many gaps in my tutelage. The different educational standards within each state created a hodge-podge quilt of knowledge, and my parents, with all their good intentions, did not possess the ability to teach well enough to give me a well-rounded education.

_But will I really be here for that long?_ My excitement wilted at the revelation; of course, I wouldn't be here that long. For the first time, I felt slightly torn; I wanted my parents to be found, but I was finally being offered the chance of a quality education. A large part of me wanted to take advantage of this opportunity.

"Fancy meeting you here, stranger!" Drew linked his arm with mine, leading me through the hallways and down the stairs into the dining room. "You had fun with the children yesterday?"

I smiled and shrugged. I couldn't necessarily say that being dragged around a forest was fun, but it certainly was interesting.

"I'm glad," he smiled, a dimple indented in his cheek. "You seem to be a bit happier because of it."

My grin widened a bit. Wait until you see my schedule!

The line of children stretched itself along the wall. Several of the kids were chatting to each other and bending over to look passed, or over, the other children to stare at the food.

Drew led me to the end of the line and withdrew his arm from mine. He greeted some of the kids with a polite smile and a "Good morning."

One of the kids, a dark African girl of about Drew's height at the end of the line, rolled her dark, maple brown eyes in mock annoyance. One of her perfectly sculpted black eyebrows arched up. "Certainly not."

Drew chuckled, taking the girl's sarcasm in stride. "I believe that it is a beautiful morning."

"For those of us who actually have to study," she responded, a hint of amusement lacing her voice; her lightly lip-glossed mouth twisted in a smirk. "It is most certainly not." She twisted the loose end of some hair that had found its way from where the rest was pinned back behind her ears.

"Oh please," Drew scoffed, his cheeks becoming red. He started tugging the end of his braid and toying at the ends. It seems he wasn't all that fond of praise, or he was affected by this exotic creature's attention. "I study all the time."

The girl coughed once, the cough outlining a single word: "Liar."

Drew hummed in response. "Anyway." He gestured towards me, seemingly eager to avoid the attention and put the spotlight on someone else. Stepping out of the way, he allowed us full view of each other. "This is B. She's new."

"New?" The girl extended her hand. "I am Violet, B." Her chin tilted forward in interest. Her gaze was much more intense when it was directed down at me.

What was up with everyone here being so…predatory?

I smiled in response, taking her hand in mine. She had a firm handshake. Her skin starkly contrasted mine, making my paleness seem almost luminescent. Violet smiled as well, her eyes flashing with kindness, before pulling away and engaging Drew into a conversation once again.

The line moved quickly; students piled their plates high with steaming food. I followed their example, my belly rumbling with hunger. Following Violet and Drew to a table, I sat next to Violet while Drew rounded the long table to sit on the opposite side.

"I just don't understand how James can cheat on his tests but not get kicked out." Violet shoveled food into mouth, never stopping to close her mouth, chew, and swallow. It was evident that she preferred to talk while eating. For such a pretty girl, she had terrible manners.

Drew, however, was much more polite, allowing Violet to make her point before swallowing his food and answering. Only an occasional grimace showed that he had a similar opinion as mine about his friend's manners.

"It's all about perspective." He said.

"Perspective? Explain."

"If you aren't caught and there is no evidence, then they can't indict you."

"You're treating it like they want us to cheat." She lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

Drew shrugged, "Don't they? Winning no matter what...isn't that the basis of the motto they teach us?"

"Um," Violet narrowed her eyes at Drew, dark eyebrows scrunching together. "No. It teaches honor. You know that."

"True," Drew sighed, flicking his brown braid over his shoulder. "But you have to look beneath that." He poked at his eggs with his fork. "It's the reason behind the principle: Win, no matter what, to obtain honor."

I mostly ignored the conversation, choosing instead to stare at my food. What had seemed fantastically tantalizing moments before, now looked completely unappetizing, even the smell made my stomach churn.

Drew glanced at me as I pushed my food away; his thin, brown brows pushed together to create creases in his forehead. "Are you alright, B?"

I shrugged, staring at the glossed finish of the table top. I felt fine, but this wasn't the first meal I'd skipped. I had hoped this wasn't permanent. I actually loved food.

A dark hand set an apple on the table before me. At the same, a warm hand settled on the small of my back. "At least eat this, okay?"

Nodding, I lifted the red fruit to my mouth. God, I felt the weight on my shoulders press further down, nearly crumpling me. This weakness was unbecoming, and I felt increasingly embarrassed.

The apple, just as the pear from yesterday had, tasted wonderful. My stomach warmed with pleasure as the cool fruit slid into it, and I let out a sigh of content.

Maybe I should just stick to fruit for a while, I thought to myself.

Violet and Drew had returned to their conversation, adamantly debating on whether honor and pride were factors that complemented each other.

"Maybe to you but there are things I would never do."

I turned back to my fruit. It didn't seem so bad; I was never really against vegans. Taking another bite, I savored the juice as I chewed on the flesh of the fruit.

Drew sighed, wiping his mouth with his napkin before placing it on his empty plate. "For instance?"

People had survived only on fruit before; why couldn't I?

Violet scowled, her elegant eyebrows drawing together, the corners of her mouth pursed her lips out. "I would never take a life for anyth—"

"Even if they were taking a friend hostage?"

Hostage.

My heart clenched painfully in my chest. The fruit in my mouth lost its flavor. My stomach churned as I set the half eaten apple on plate of the untouched food.

Violet looked offended, her pretty mouth screwed sideways. "That's unfair. Of course, I would kill for a friend."

"Oh," Drew's fingers traced the edge of the cup, a small smirk playing at the edge of his feminine yet boyish features. "So, you would kill to save a friend? I thought you wouldn't kill for anything."

"I won't."

"No?"

"Yes…"

"Yes?"

Violet grunted in frustration. "This is why I don't talk to you anymore! You realize that, right?"

Drew beamed. His features were lit up with joy; it looked incredibly misplaced considering the circumstances. "Oh please, I'm nothing if not a delight."

The older girl narrowed her eyes, "Anything but a delight."

A silence fell after their conversation; the two concentrated on their meal. The air was heavy with an awkward tension, and I decided it was a good as time as any to walk to the library. I could always show Drew my schedule later.

I stood, gathering my tray in my hands, catching the attention of Drew. "You're taking your leave of us?"

I nodded; I'd rather thought my presence was unnecessary at this point. I was only a listener, no chance of actually influencing the conversation. Perhaps Drew was right. It might be beneficial to use sticky notes...

"I see." Drew politely smiled, "I will see you further on in the day then?"

Again, I nodded; I doubted I'd be able to stay away from his kindness for long. I smiled back at him before turning away to follow a small group of kids, who were holding trays of empty plates, to the end of the room. It was a short distance from the buffet table. I set my dishes into the bin before making my way out of the dining hall. I went up the grand staircase and turned to the left. I fingered the folded up papers in my hoodie pocket; I felt a need to study for the courses. I didn't know what would be covered or what was being taught, but something in me told me that I had an obligation to at least make an attempt at grasping an understanding of each topic.

I retraced my path, from the previous night, to the library. I was eager to actually be doing something.

I pulled the papers from my pocket as I entered the library and began searching through the texts to find a couple of generic sounding books for each subject. After gathering a substantial stack, I lugged them over to a corner next to a window and use the light of the sun to read by. I quickly began my reading. It was slow, the language of the books were much more difficult than I was used to. However, I persevered and reread several sections a few times before I believed I had a good grasp of what the book was trying to convey.

I didn't register the sky changing colors behind me, until the pages of my book was almost orange. I was startled quite a bit when I realized that I had literally been sitting there for hours, reading. That had never happened before. Ah, my subconscious rang through my mind. I've never really had the chance to focus on something for this long.

Sighing, I stood and stretched.

Father had always said there was no point in focusing. "It's a waste of time," he'd say before taking away my school work. We never stayed in the same place for long, so it was impossible to take advantage of any form of education.

Shaking my head, I edged passed the small stack of books that I had already read. They were resting on the floor next to the chair I had been sitting in. There wasn't any real point in thinking about why. I was being given an education now. A small smile found its way to my face. God, was I excited! I wanted this so badly.

Deciding to relocate to my room, I grabbed my schedule, folded it, and put in my pocket. Then, I gathered a few of books I had yet to read. I held the books close to my chest as I made my way to the exit of the library.

The hallway was once again dimmed, the curtains drawn, and the sconces on the wall illuminating the hall softly. As I opened the door, I became distracted by the difference in ambiance between the library and the hallway, and I was not watching where I was going.

An arm wrapped around my waist as my balance was lost, the books in my arms tumbling to the ground.

"Woah, you okay B?" I turned my head to see Drew, his brown eyebrows pulled together to frame worried golden eyes.

I nodded, his arm fell away as I bent down to pick up the fallen books. He bent down with me, picking up one of the books nearest his feet. "'Chemistry: The Complete Encyclopedia,' what are you doing with such heavy reading?"

Standing, I dug into my hoodie's pouch and pulled out the folded papers. Offering them to him, he traded the book for the papers, and I stacked them with the others in my arms.

Drew unfolded the papers, his fingers tracing the edge of the them absentmindedly. After a few moments he hummed, "You're in the same classes as I am, but at different times." He lowered the papers to glance at the books in my arms, his face contorted slightly in thought. "Those books are far to advanced for the material we are learning...also, there is a novel that we are reading for English class."

The thin boy flipped his braid behind him before motioning to the library with his hand. "Come on, I'll find you some books that you can read to get caught up."

I sighed, with his assistance I was sure that I would be able to, at the very least, participate in classes tomorrow.

* * *

_**Edit 03/18/2015:** This is edited by the wonderful gamergirl07...please send her tons and tons of love, she deserves it! I also added a bit to the end of the chapter, because I was kind of unsatisfied with how it ended._

_Edited 07/05/2015: Again, InkstainedHand1177 edited this chapter...they're such a hard worker! T-T_

* * *

Author's Note:

Of course, this chapter is only (what?) several months old. I hope you all like it...if you have anything to say (criticism and such) just leave a review! It certainly can't hurt anything!

Much love, dearest readers,

AAnnR


	9. The Project Arc: Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: I wish I owned Death Note...maybe when I rule the world I can!_

**Story Arc 1: The Project**

**April 12th, 2004**

_**Chapter 9**_

A high pitched wailing startled me from my sleep. The obnoxious noise twisted and writhed throughout the room. It offered, instead of happiness and sunshine, the beginnings of a headache.

Groaning, I pressed the off switch to the alarm, ending the obnoxious noise.

What day was it?

_Monday_, my mind supplied.

I glanced at the clock. Beady, little lights formed red numbers that showed depressing information.

6:03 a.m. on Monday.

I groaned again; why would anyone want to wake up this early, ever?

_Because you are suicidal._

I silently agreed with myself - only those who had a death wish got up this early.

_You chose this._

I groaned. Yes. Of course I did. I had wanted an education...was it too late to turn back?

Sharp knocks came from my door, pulling my attention from my pity party.

"B?" Drew's voice called from beyond the wooden door.

I rolled out of bed, crossing the room to pull open the door to let the chocolate haired boy in. Drew stood there dressed in gym shorts and the same generic green tee-shirt he had worn everyday since I had met him. The braid he usually wore was gone; instead, his hair was fashioned in a high ponytail, his bangs pinned back with several multicolored bobby pins.

His eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise as he glanced down. "You're still in your sleepwear?"

I nodded before gesturing towards his clothing.

"My clothes? I know they're different, but it shouldn't really surprise you. I can't be expected to wear my normal clothing for our physical education class." He smiled, twisting the ends of his ponytail around his fingers.

I sighed, rolling my eyes. Remembering putting away some gym shorts and a tee-shirt a few days ago, I turned from Drew to dig through a couple of drawers in my dresser and eventually pulled them out.

Behind me, I heard Drew shuffle his way across the room towards my desk, "Did you enjoy any of the books we found out last night?"

I nodded, turning around to throw the clothing in my hands onto the bed between us. The books Drew had given me were much easier than the books I had discovered for myself. I blew through them quickly. I even read a couple of chapters of the required reading for English class.

"I'm glad!" Drew smiled, setting down the book. He leaned his lithe body against the side of my desk, his fingers brought the end of his ponytail over his shoulder to play with the brown ends. The way the morning light peaked through the window made the strands seem almost as bright red as mine. For a moment, I contemplated on whether or not my hair would look that beautiful in the morning sun.

I scoffed at myself. I probably looked like a bright, frizzy tomato.

Drew, after a moment of silence, pulled open the top drawer to the desk and dipped his hand inside, rattling the contents around. I hadn't even bothered to look through my desk yet, but from the sound of it, there seemed to be a lot of junk just sitting in there.

Drew hummed in success; pulling out his prize, he closing the drawer. His fingers tugged on the wrapper, the label of the object clearly seen. Post-It Notes.

I smiled as he tossed the top of the three he finished unwrapping at me. The blue square dived through the air and landed, magically, into my hands. Next, he tossed me a pen.

"There!" He smiled, pushing off from the desk and walked across the room towards the door. "Now we can communicate!" He paused at the doorway, "Anyway, class congregates outside, in front of the mansion."

Nodding, I closed the door as he continued down the hallway with a small wave to me. I turned to change, pulling off my pajamas to put on the gym shorts and gray tee-shirt. Locating a hair tie, I pulled up my hair into a high ponytail and slipped the end of it into my shirt before pushing my feet into my ratted tennis shoes.

I was suddenly pumped for the day. The appearance of Drew had helped with that. And his discovery of the sticky notes meant that I had a convenient way of communicating with him!

Smiling, I pushed the pen into my hair, before sliding the post-it notes into the pocket of my gym shorts. Ready for the day, I picked up the room key on my side table and exited my room. I locked the door, being careful to put the key into the opposite pocket from my sticky notes so it wouldn't fall out when I took out the blue papers.

Students were walking in groups down the hallway, their voices hushed so as not to disturb the quiet of the morning.

I passed the others, jogging down the hallway and the stairs to front door. A group of teens were slipping out the door when I jogged up, one of the male teenagers were kind enough to hold the door open for me, smiling widely.

"Hold in your enthusiasm, cowboy! You're going to need it!" The rest of the male's friends had held back to wait for their friend. They laughed. This signified their unified agreement.

Smiling politely, I followed the continuing trail of students to a much larger gathering of children and teens. They were standing in same area as the children who had gathered to play tag two days ago.

Drew stood a little off to the side of the main group, having a conversation with two other kids.

Feeling brave, I strode over to his group and touched Drew's elbow, indicating that I was there. I moved to stand beside him. The brown haired boy jumped at the sudden contact, tearing his arm from my grasp.

"B!" He seemed to whine, the pitch of his voice lilting upward just fractionally. "You frightened me!"

I shrugged, giving him a sheepish smile. "Sorry," I mouthed, automatically signing the word out as well. Drew glanced down, watching my hands move.

"B, you know I can't understand sign language. Use the sticky notes."

Sighing, I pulled them from my pocket and tugged the pen from my hair. He must have missed my mouth forming the word in his confusion in watching my hands. I quickly scrawled my words onto the small blue surface: "I said I was sorry! :)"

I passed Drew the message and watched as his eyes quickly read it before crumpling it up and putting it in his pocket. "It's fine, really!"

The larger male of the group, laughed. "Dude, you can't understand sign language?"

"No-"

The next male, a boy with cropped, dirty blonde hair, interrupted Drew, "Wasn't that a course that was mandatory three years ago?"

"Yeah," the bigger kid looked thoughtful for a moment. "It was because of a deaf boy, wasn't it?"

"I think so. He got kicked out since he couldn't keep up with the curriculum."

The larger boy laughed, his chin tucked in slightly to produce a second chin underneath his already prominent one. "Of course not! He was deaf. It wasn't fair at all. The teachers had to give him extra lessons!"

"Extra lessons?" Drew asked, his eyebrows drawing down slightly in irritation.

"Since he was unable to attend our classes without an interpreter."

"You know," the bigger boy chimed in. "Because he was deaf." He turned to me, his smile growing larger, producing another roll of fat to add to his already prominent two. His voice lilted towards condescending, "Is B deaf as well?"

I shook my head, scowling, "Nope, I can hear very well, thank you!" I forced myself to smiled as the larger boy grunted, his own smile still plastered to his face.

"Guess we won't have to go through sign language class again, then!"

Then a whistle sounded and everything was in a flurry. Drew dragged me to stand beside him as he joined the majority of the group. All of the children then formed a straight line, standing shoulder to shoulder.

Footfalls thudded heavily behind us as a person walked farther down to round the end our long line. Silence descended, even the birds had ceased their chirping. The air had become steadily heavier with intimidation.

Unnerved, I dared not move to see who was scary enough to make birds stop chirping. I quietly waited until he was standing before us all. His legs were apart with his arms tucked neatly behind his back. The skin of his head shone in the early morning sun, collecting a blinding beam of light right on top of his cranium, like a signal flare. The man's skin was tanned and worn, wrinkles collecting at the corner of his mouth and eyes and in between his eyebrows. His clothes were several shades lighter than his dark skin, the light khaki material pulled taut across the obviously sharp musculature of his body.

"WORMS!" An intense, masculine voice barked, raising the hair on my arms. "ATTENTION!"

The sharp snap of movement sounded as a resonant "SIR!" was shouted in response. I stood in tense awe, to shocked to think of copying the movements of my peers.

The man turned his gaze quickly down the line. I physically flinched when the man stopped and stared me, his gaze piercing and dark. He all but sprinted at me, his movements intent as his arms swung outward taking up as much space as possible. It was as if he actually wished to knock me over with his Herculean arms.

I flinched backwards as he shoved his face right into mine, "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU LITTLE SHIT?" Spittle flew from his mouth, disgust managed to roll through me when the cool moisture hit my skin.

Despite this, I shivered, tearing my eyes from his and looked at the ground. My hands shook as I tried to sign a response, but the man was back to spitting out profanities.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" I glanced up. Apparently that was the wrong response because he immediately furrowed his brow farther down, almost connecting the two together. "A FUCKING SIGNER?! GREAT! NEXT THEY'LL BE SENDING ME RETARDS!"

Being compared to a mentally handicapped child stung. I felt my eye prick with moisture.

I sensed his eyes still on me. I shook a bit harder. His voice dropped down a few volumes, but the effect was so much more terrifying. It felt much more personal.

"So what, you're going to cry now? Fucking baby, aren't you?" His breath was sour, a hint of tang hanging underneath...alcohol? My father had the same smell, but this was much more prevalent..."You're a bit fatter than some of the bastards we get around here."

He didn't even move away before he began yelling again. I could feel his voice vibrate through me. "LISTEN HERE, SHITLINGS! WE HAVE FRESH MEAT TODAY. WHAT DO WE SAY WE GIVE HER THE OLD INITIATION, EH?"

Initiation?

I felt myself start to sweat. That didn't sound good at all. All at once, I started to imagine what kind of tortures the man would put me though.

The lines of children snapped their arms in and shouted, "SIR, YES SIR!"

"GET TO RUNNING, MAGGOT!"

Adrenaline shot through me as my body sprung to action, the command acting as a verbal switch. My legs started moving on their own, and I sprinted away, the teacher shouting after me, "AND DON'T STOP UNTIL YOU'RE DEAD!"

After a few minutes I couldn't hear the shouts and wails of despair as the class responded to his orders for them. I kept the brick walls of the mansion to my left as I ran around it. The building was much larger when I was running the length of it. When I finally made it all the way around, the teacher was waiting for me, his arms crossed and a glare on his face.

I came to a stop before him, breathing heavily.

He regarded me coldly, his eyes taking in what he saw, the wheels in his brain visibly turning; I wondered briefly what he saw while I waited for his ultimatum.

"I was told you were fourteen. You seem to be much shorter than a girl of your age should be. And wider. You're much wider. You're winded after a lap around the orphanage, which mean you're not used to exercise. However, it could also be due to the lack of nutrition in your diet recently." He pulled out a pad of paper and a pen from behind him, leaving me wondering where he had pulled it from him. The creases in between his eyebrows deepened as he regarded something on the pad of paper before scribbling it out.

"I'm starting you on a strict diet and a physical regimen until I determine that you are up to our orphanage's standards." He began writing, his large tanned hand moving swiftly across the page. "You've only been eating a small quantity of fruit or pastries daily; however, it's obvious you are used to larger portions than an apple or a pear. The cooks will provide you your own approved meal; you will eat all of it. You will also attended every meal." He glanced up, his gaze stern. "Just because you are experiencing loss does not mean that you can allow your body to become malnourished."

I nodded, extremely uncomfortable that he knew so much about what I had been eating.

He turned his attention back to the pad of paper. "Your martial arts instructor and I will work out a schedule of physical activity that you are to follow." The look on his face told me that I shouldn't back talk.

I nodded meekly.

* * *

_**Edited 07/05/2015:** InkstainedHands edited this chapter and made it much better and flow-y! I'm so grateful!_


	10. The Project Arc: Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: Everything used in the chapter about Finnegan's Wake was read about on Wikipedia and watched on online story reviews...to anyone who has read the book, if you want to correct anything I have written in the chapter, please review or send me a message! I don't like being inaccurate! Basically, everything in this chapter is not mine...well, the place isn't. All the characters are...they're OCs._

**Story Arc 1: The Project**

**April 12th, 2004**

_**Chapter 10**_

When Drew caught up with me at the end of Physical Education, he was the epitome perfection, not a hair out of place. If anything, his ponytail looked more luscious and full, and his skin might have looked more lively, almost as if he had just come back from a stroll, not performed military drills for the better part of two hours.

I pulled a sticky note from my pocket, writing, "Why didn't you warn me?" A wet imprint of the side of my hand smeared the 'e' of 'me', making an awkward black smudge against the edge of the square blue paper.

Drew cocked his head to the side, his brown braid swaying. "About our Drill Sergeant and Physical Education teacher?" I nodded, wiping sweat from my brow. My hair felt soaked and matted and stuck to my face. My clothes, saturated in sweat, clung coolly to my skin. "It wasn't that bad! It could have been worse."

I sent him a perplexed look, my eyebrows drawn together and the corners of my mouth pulled down. P.E. wasn't this difficult in America. I would have expected a game of dodgeball instead of running miles around the a building for hours. I quickly wrote another note, "Not that bad? P.E. in America is fun! You guys looked like you were being tortured!"

Drew chuckled and pulled his brown hair around his shoulder to the front of him and pinched the ends with his fingers, twisting the strands. "That was fun!" We turned the corner and walked down my hallway. "Come on B, you'll see in a couple of months! When the Sergeant has you whipped into shape, you'll get to join us in the ranks! It's a blast!"

Hearing that made me want to puke. In a couple of months? I'd be running for months? MONTHS? I wanted to scream! I couldn't take months of this torture. My muscle felt as they were being torn in half; I knew my knees were in danger of giving out any moment as we climbed up the stairs. I really didn't want to run at all. Kids in public schools never ran (and if they did, it was not to the extent of what I was made to do). They were definitely never subjected to military drills. Perhaps the orphanage was trying to breed soldiers, rather than educate its brilliant children to cure the world's problems.

Drew walked me to my room, his pace was much slower than normal. "But anyway, you might want to take a warm shower. Get your muscles loose. Stretch a bit, it'll help a lot with the soreness now and later on. You have about thirty minutes before the next period. They always give us time to change and wash up." When we approached my door, I took the key from my pocket and unlocked it. "I'll see you later, B! Don't be late to class!" He waved and walked back down the corridor.

Locking the door behind me, I limped over to the bathroom and turned on the shower. After peeling off my wet clothes, I stepped into the spray, hissing in delight as the warm water caressed my muscles. My joints were weak and aching, as if they would give at any moment. Could my body even handle another day of this? Honestly, I didn't think so. Maybe I could fake an illness or something.

_No!_ I scrunched my eyes closed, clenching my hands into fist and raising my face into the spray. I held my breath as the warm water hit my face. I chose this! I could stick with this! It'd only make me stronger. It was only the first day. No, not even the first day! Only the first class! I could do this. I could.

I turned my head from the spray to breath and turned around to feel the water on my back. I started to stretch out my muscles, wincing at each motion. It felt as if my body was attempting mutiny. Eventually, the limpness in my body lifted, and I felt less sore.

Allowing a few moments of bliss, I managed to gather enough will, and strength, to lather some soap over my body, rinse, and then step out of the shower.

Dripping water over the floor, I walked back into my room and glanced at the little alarm clock next to my bed. I still had ten minutes. Scurrying over to the chest of drawers, I pulled out some undergarments and slipped them on. I slipped the towel around my hair as I walked over to the closet. Rifling through the hanging shirts, hoodies, and jeans, I pulled one of each out and slipped them on. Somehow maneuvering the towel wrapped around my head to fit through the holes of my shirt and hoodie, I flipped my head over and used the towel to dry up any of the remaining water from my hair.

I remembered when I didn't have to do this myself. My mother was quite fond of towel drying my hair, especially before I went to bed. We'd sit in front of the television, her on the couch, and I hunkered on the floor between her legs. She'd change it to the news, more often Fox than ABC, lay my hair on the towel that was on her legs, and brush out the tangles. Every so often she'd comment on something that the anchorman said. I never really paid any attention to what it was. Rather, I was lulled by the sound of her voice and caressed by the bristles of the brush, and eventually, I'd feel so tired and content that I would fall asleep against her legs.

I was brought back to the present by the pain. My muscles had started to burn after a bit. I really didn't have the strength to completely dry my hair, so I stood up straight and tossed the towel into a basket inside of my closet. My slightly wet, crazy hair laid awkwardly in my face as I crossed my room to the vanity beside my bed. Opening the drawer, I pulled out a hair tie and hair brush and began to brush out my tangles and pull my hair into a ponytail.

I wasn't like my mother. I didn't really care about the end result. She always took pride in her appearance, applying toners and moisturizers and primers and foundation and eyeliner. She tried to instill the same desire for physical care into me, and it had stuck for a while. Often she and I would get ready together, our cosmetics intermingling on the counter of the bathroom every morning. We used the time to talk. And, I mean actually talk, none of this bothersome sign language. It was the only time my father would allow me to talk without reprimanding me. It was my mini escape from reality. The only time I could be completely normal.

I fell out of the habit when we moved away from America. We didn't have the money to spend on frivolities, and my mother wasn't really ever in the mood to talk anymore.

Now, away from it all, I just didn't possess the will or the patience.

I set about gathering my supplies for the next class. I pulled out a couple of notebooks and a pencil. I dug my pad of sticky notes out of the pocket of the running shorts on the floor before tossing the shorts, along with the other dirty clothes on the floor, into the laundry hamper in the closet. Grabbing my key, I stepped out of my room and into the hallway, locking the door behind me.

Kids were already walking down the halls towards the lower level of the mansion. The air was full of chatter. I walked behind a large group of children, paying attention special to the route, wanting to memorize the way. We walked down the left hallway, passed a set of huge, double, dark oak doors labeled 'School Wing'.

Everything passed the doors was blinding. The hallway was lined in glass, the walls clear enough to see through to rooms on the other side. Single rows of desks faced the same direction in every room, towards a milky, white wall. Some children already sat, leaning over their desks, writing on papers. Other children were participating in conversations or staring aimlessly around waiting for the classes to start.

The children around me split up with quick goodbyes and walked through black rimmed doorways. Above each of the entrances were electronic panels; the names of the class and teacher were sprawled across in blue lights. It seemed there was only one classroom per subject, and it was easy to locate the English classroom. I managed to walk passed the threshold just as some kind of chime sounded through the hallway. A black, solid door was released from a metal clasp, and it softly closed.

I stood there with my materials as the teacher moved away from her desk and looked up. Her lavender eyes quickly scanned the class. Her pink lips pulled back into a smile when she saw me, waving her tanned hand for me to approach. As I got closer, I could see the light reflect off her pink hair. It seemed to almost glow with health. Her clothes were a bit more distracting, her cleavage bounced around as she walked from behind her desk. Her outfit left nothing to the imagination, the cut of the neckline was low, accentuating the point where her tanned breasts met with dark colored lapels. Lavender tights ran up her legs into a thin, black mini-skirt. I looked away from the promiscuously dressed English teacher and instead found myself staring at the four people sitting amongst a row of five desks.

"Today, we have a new student!" When I finally approached her, the teacher clapped me on the shoulder and spun me around to introduce me to the small class. "This lovely young thing's name is Beginning! She's from America, and she will be with your pod from now on!" One or two of the kids smiled a bit, another beamed, while the others just nodded, looking bored. "Why don't we introduce ourselves, hm?"

One of the kids jumped up, beaming. Her brown hair had light blue highlights. It fell in ringlets in her face. She was short, her figure wasn't thin, but it wasn't fat, more like muscular. I could see the muscles beneath the tightness of her rolled up jean and figure fitting rainbow tank top. Her skin was rather tan, bringing out her gleaming, golden eyes. She clapped her hands together once, still jumping. "I'm Journey! I came from Canada! We're basically sisters!" She leaned over the desk, stage whispering, "How old are you?"

"Sixteen," I signed, blushing a bit from the attention. She was something. I wasn't used to animated people. They seemed like way more trouble than it was worth to keep up with. But the way Journey was smiling...it was like innocence was wafting off of her in waves, thrumming pure pleasantness. I couldn't help but smile as well.

"She's deaf?" A boy farther to the left leaned back, his arms crossed, his white, button up shirt rolled up onto his forearms. From underneath the desk, I could see pressed, black slack and glossy, dress shoes. It looked more like he was trying to get a job at an office than attend a school. Everyone else seemed to always dress informally, save for the few adults I had encountered.

He was scowling, his thin lips pulled tightly together, pursing, as if everything was an annoyance. Now here was someone I was accustomed too, a hard-ass. My father was one. Or…well…my father pretended to be one. I suppose my father was trying to be a gangster. This young man obviously was much more sophisticated than a gangster, more like a mobster, or a body guard.

"No, Caterax." The teacher's grip tightened on my shoulder, making me squirm. "This smart, young thing is mute." She released her hold of me to cross her forearms across her chest, the light catching the skin of her bosom slightly. "She can still hear and understand words, this poor young thing just can't speak."

Caterax looked away, clicking his tongue and muttering under his breath, "Sounds like an excuse."

The teacher pursed her lips in annoyance, but altogether gave no response. "Anyway," She gestured to the girl right of Caterax. She had long, light brown hair that framed her heart shaped face. Her light skin was flawless, liken to a porcelain texture. Large, honey brown eyes reflected the light from the windows as she smiled, revealing small, white teeth between thin, pink lips. Her cardigan dwarfed her body, covering up any figure or hint of body shape the girl might have had beneath it. "This lovely, young thing is Jelly!" Jelly smiled, waving her sleeve covered hand at me.

"And next to her is Diligence!" She pointed to a tall boy with mousy features. Diligence's most obvious feature was his blindingly orange scarf. The lower half of his head seemed to sink into it's folds, leaving everything, from the tip of his nose downward, impossible to see. His dark, brown hair sat in a curly mess atop his head, gracing the edge of his cheeks and forehead. His face was average, more soft than sharp. His nose was rounded. He wore a brown army jacket, the kind that looked normal on the outside, but had millions of pockets on the inside. I'd seen them worn by hippies and drug dealers. I mentally prayed for him to be neither.

"The cute, young thing next to Diligence, is Journey. Whom you've already met." She gestured to the girl with rainbow hair who bounced in her seat, clapping and smiling. "And with you, this pod has officially reached five of you brilliant things!" The teacher smiled endearingly at us.

Journey whooped, "I think this deserves a party, don't you think Ms. Hat?"

"No." The teacher directed me towards the empty desk at the end of line of desks. "You may sit here. You can put your things in your desk for now!" As I put my things away, the teacher made her way back up to the front of the classroom. "In fact, Beginning, you came in at the most wonderful time!" She smiled and sauntered over to her desk to pick up a book.

"Oh! Are you assigning another book?" Journey seemed to vibrate in her chair with excitement.

Ms. Hat smiled, "Why yes, you smart, little thing! I am!" The teacher held it out for Journey to take. "We will be reading 'Finnegans Wake' for the next couple of days!"

"What the fuck?" Caterax cried out, gripping the sides of his desk with his hands. "Isn't that supposed to be nearly impossible to read?"

"Hm?" Ms. Hat smiled, crossing her own arms across her chest. "Surely you, an intelligent, young thing, can decipher the near dreamlike prose of a dead man?" She walked closer to Caterax's desk and stood above him.

"Sure I could, maybe, if it were half intelligible!"

"Ah," Ms. Hat slammed a thin, tanned hand onto his desk. Caterax scowled up at the teacher smiling down on him. "So you're telling me that James Joyce, the author of Ulysses, willingly wrote a book that he didn't want his readers to decipher?"

The boy narrowed his eyes belligerently, "Yes."

"I see," Ms. Hat moved her face closer, "Prove it." Her tone was dripping with sweetness, so much so that it sounded almost fake. She straightened her posture and walked back to her own desk and leaned against it, facing the class. "Journey, you sweet thing, would you like to read a portion?"

Journey nodded eagerly. "Sir Tristram, violer d'amores," Journey had opened the book and had begun reading from one of the pages; her tone sounded excited but was surprisingly flawless in pronunciation, automatically adopting an accent. "Fr'over the short sea, had passencore rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggy isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate - "

"Do you see what I mean?" Caterax sounded beside himself. Journey seemed a bit put out at being interrupted. "It's just a random stream of nonsense! What are we going to learn about the English language from that?"

"Actually, you terse thing," Ms. Hat smiled at Caterax, her lashes fluttering. "It was originally written in Finnish." She dug through her bag again and pulled out five novels and passed them out, retrieving the one Journey had once held.

"Come now, Caterax." Jelly's voice was just about as soft as she looked, a gentle British accent. She prevented Caterax from responding by continuing. "Perhaps the professor knows what she is doing?"

The boy turned his head to look at Jelly, who smiled. "Whatever," Caterax huffed but backed off. He accepted the book the teacher passed to him with grudging tolerance.

The book passed, that was passed to me, was crisp and new, the binding of the paperback hadn't even been soiled or bent yet. I nodded to my thanks to Diligence. He glanced away as soon as I made eye contact, however.

"Now, let's talk about the author!" Ms. Hat moved up to the glass wall to the right of her desk and pulled out a dry-erase marker. She talked and wrote on the glass for the rest of the period. Twice, she had us flip to random sections of the book in order to find examples. I wrote diligent notes, trying to read the teacher's messy handwriting as best and quickly as I could.

Eventually, the bell rang and the teacher erased the markings from the glass wall and left with a smile. "Have a great day!"

* * *

_**Edited 07/05/2015:** InkstainedHands1177 has edited this chapter as well...I'm supper glad. This chapter was grammatically fluencical mess._


	11. The Project Arc: Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note or any of its' characters...please don't be too mad that I used them..._

**Story Arc 1: The Project**

**April 12th, 2004**

_**Chapter 11**_

"Hello Professor!" Journey clattered from her desk, smiling, to meet an old man at the doorway, taking his coat, suitcase, and hat, escorting him to the front of the classroom, her hand underneath his suit-clad arm, his dark wooden cane thudding against the ground.

"I find her assistance with the elderly adorable!" Jelly's voice was soft and obviously only meant for Caterax: her body was slightly bent over to the side, her mouth resting against hands cupped against his ear. Caterax murmured back, glancing over to me out of the corner of his eye, "You need to learn how to keep your voice down." Blushing, I ripped my gaze from them and threw it back to Journey and the old man. _He definitely does not like me._

As he slowly meandered to the front I could see the reason why someone would need to help him. He looked to be about eighty with his back horribly stooped and his shock-white hair. Since he had a large stoop in his back he was much shorter than Journey, who wasn't all that tall to begin with.

The elderly man walked with a cane, the hard wood thudding against the ground as he made his way to the front, his back hunched, his eyes squinting. Eventually, he stood before us and Journey let go of his arm to set his coat, briefcase, and hat on the desk before scrambling to her seat. "Shall we begin?" His voice was raspy, brittle, and a bit out of breath.

Several of the kids murmured a "yes sir," so I nodded my affirmation. He turned to the glass wall, pulling out an expo marker from his jacket and wrote an equation in black ink. When he was done he took a step back to admire his work before he wobbingly turned around. "Would our new addition like to try a problem at the board?"

I stared at the problem passed the teacher's shoulder, nodding my head. He smiled warmly. "Are you ready?" He held out the marker. I nodded, sceptical of his intentions. I pulled myself from the desk, wincing with soreness (my muscle must have tightened up again since I was motionless for an hour). I crossed the small place of the front of the classroom, taking the cap off the marker with a pop and stared at the problem, scanning the letters and numbers.

I heard his cane tap along the ground as he walked up to stand a bit catty-cornered from me. I felt his warmth beside me as he took his gnarled hand a pointed to a section to the equation, he kind of smelled like lennins. "This a variable." I nodded, comprehending what he was saying. I had learned that. "And this," he continued, pointing to another part of the equation. "Is a natural log."

I nodded again; I could feel my eyebrows start to knit together. Still something I knew.

"And this line is the sign for derivative."

Again, I nodded. I could solve the problem. I knew this. I had studied it in one of the books Drew gave me a couple of days ago…maybe he assumed I didn't know how to do these? No, he was probably just one of those teachers that liked to explain things.

"And this," he pointed to a simple number. "Is an integer."

_Or maybe he just thought I was stupid._

All of a sudden I felt hot, my brain melting and quivering. Embarrassed and fairly insulted, he had immediately assumed that I wasn't educated enough. I knew what a variable was…I wasn't that stupid. I knew what integers were. I gripped my marker tight and began to write, ignoring what the professor was saying.

As I worked through the problem, I could feel my anger quickly subsiding. I continued with the problem only because of my embarrassment. The marker squeaked against the board as I finished the problem, boxing my answer.

The teacher was silent for a moment and I didn't turn back to face him. Why did I lose my temper? I'm so much better than that.

"Do you know why Calculus exists?"

_Calculus?_ I shook my head…overall it probably existed to prove something to someone, but it seemed like mindless drivel that everyone was forced to learn.

Apparently he read my mind because then he started to launch into the most intricate speech about mathematics I had ever heard. I was more distracted by the way he strung his words together than understanding the meaning behind his words.

"Calculus relates topics in an elegant, brain-bending manner." He pulled his marker from his pocket and began to write strings of equations that were similar to mine on the board. "My closest analogy is Darwin's Theory of Evolution: once understood, you start seeing Nature in terms of survival. You understand why drugs lead to resistant germs. Survival of the fittest." His voice was inspired.

I heard Caterax mumble something in the background I didn't quite catch, but I definitely heard someone loudly shush him. Probably Journey. Jelly and Diligence seemed to polite or quite to that.

"You know why sugar and fat taste sweet? To encourage the consumption of high-calorie foods in times of scarcity." I took a couple of steps back watching the old man flit about, reaching every which way, leaving red scrawl in his wake. "It all fits together. Unfortunately, calculus can epitomize what's wrong with math education. Most lessons feature contrived examples, arcane proofs, and memorization that body slam our intuition &amp; enthusiasm. We've forgotten that math is about ideas, not robotically manipulating the formulas that express them." He paused, sighing and moving back next to me, looking at his work. "It really shouldn't be this way. And children haven't been taught properly...Math isn't the hard part of math; motivation is."

The elderly man took a step back and capped his marker. "I'm afraid I've had too many students meander into this orphanage and be unable to do simple mathematics. And I'm afraid I had assumed you were like them."

He turned back to me and smiled, "Math and poetry are fingers pointing at the moon. Don't confuse the finger for the moon. Formulas are a means to an end; a way to express a mathematical truth."

I nodded, his scrawl on the board suddenly made a bit more sense, it was all connected. Everything.

"Diligence," The elderly man turned to the orange scarved, curly haired boy. "Tell us what the definition of Calculus is."

His eyes lit up, the corners of his mouth peeked over the edge of his scarf. "Calculus is the mathematical study of change, in the same way that geometry is the study of shape and algebra is the study of operations and their application to solving equations. It has two major branches, differential calculus - which concerns rates of change and slopes of curves - and integral calculus, concerning accumulation of quantities and the areas under and between curves;[2] these two branches are related to each other by the fundamental theorem of calculus." Diligence looked like he was smiling as he droned on. The professor smiled and motioned for me to sit down with a incline of his cane. "Both branches make use of the fundamental notions of convergence of infinite sequences and infinite series to a well-defined limit.

"The ancient period introduced some of the ideas that led to integral calculus, but does not seem to have developed these ideas in a rigorous and systematic way. Calculations of volume and area, one goal of integral calculus, can be found in the Egyptian Moscow papyrus, but the formulas are simple instructions, with no indication as to method, and some of them lack major components."

He continued on and on and on, listing and describing. How could he know so much about one topic? It was insane. Too insane. Way over insane. And very boring. His tone was inflectionless, facts were said in the same continuous monotonous voice making it difficult to pay attention what he said at all.

Where Diligence ended, the professor took over, erasing the equations on the board and writing a new one - a much more difficult one; one that I didn't know how to solve. He went through it, explaining the properties and different ways one could get through to solve the problem.

I scrambled to take notes - the professor and Diligence were both spoke too quickly through all kinds of details and ideas. It was impossible to keep up. I wasn't well versed at writing quickly - my mother had alway printed out her notes and gave them to me after the lecture was over. I could type rather well, but my writing hadn't developed to the point where I could shorthand on a moment's notice.

And halfway through my fucking hand started to cramp badly, which made my handwriting nearly impossible to read at all.

Eventually, the old professor ended his lecture, gave me a textbook and us all a list of math problems for homework and left. I silently prayed that the things the teacher had talked about where in the textbook as I set the book on the ground, resting against on the wooden desk legs.

The next teacher to stroll in was a very broad faced, middle aged woman. Her hair was pulled up in a tight, brown and gray bun; not a single strand out of place. While the bottom of her body set a leisurely pace, her legs quietly moving fluidly forwards, the upper part of the body moved jaggedly, her arms jutting forwards as if the top part of her body wanted to move faster than she was already going. She wore a white button up top and black slacks with brown leather shoes - where those penny loafers?

"So." As she stalked towards the desk the teacher talked, her voice was deep. "I heard we have a new student." Almost masculine...it was definitely husky. It was sultry like Ms. Hat's. No. This was an interesting voice...not quite a man's voice coming out of a woman's body. More like a man's voice that was trying to be feminine.

I was a bit thrown off. I turned to the rest of the room, but if they gave any indication that this was weird they were very good at hiding it. When I turned back I was met with the sight of a large textbook the picture of a decrepit castle, "And this is for you. Read it. Love it. Memorize it. Bed it. Write in it. Care for it. You don't get another one." I gingerly took the book from her and set it next to my notebook and pencil.

She nodded before moving to the other students. "I trust that you all have your assignments ready." It really wasn't a question. No. It was more like a command. Or a statement.

They sifted through their papers, gathered them, and handed them over, laying them in her outstretched hand.

After they were all there she nodded, "Your next assignment is the Chapter 6. All the questions. Notes. And choose one of the essays at the end." Journey and Caterax grumbled their assent while Jelly and Diligence nodded their heads. Satisfied, she turned to me and pointed to the book. "Your assignment is to try to catch up as quickly as possible. You have at least a month to do notes, questions, and essays for each of the chapters until you've caught up."

I nodded. Jesus Christ! This was going to be a lot of work.

"Alright then, class dismissed."

Woah, what? It was dismissed? Just like that?

"Apparently my confusion was evident on my face because the teacher raised an eyebrow. "I run the library and I can't really afford the time to babysit all of my classes. We only have class once a week...the other days that class is scheduled can be used for work or whatever."

With that, the teacher left us.

Journey immediately stood and made her way over to me, "What are you going to do now?"

I shrugged. I didn't really know what I was going to do. "Lunch, I guess." I signed. I kind of hoped she would offer to eat with me.

She beamed, "Well, I have to do some studying for the next class I have. So I'm not going to lunch." She turned back around before I could answer, grabbed her things and literally sprinted from the room.

She's a fruitloop. I thought, slightly confused by her sudden absence.

The room was suddenly very empty - the rest of the students must have made their leave while I was distracted with Journey. A sliver of loneliness slithered through me as I gathered up my supplies. I wish Drew was in my class.

With my things in my arms I trekked back through the hallways to my room. I clumsily shifted them to side to reach into my pocket and pull out my room key, unlocked the door and nudged open to set my stuff in a messy pile on my bed. Maybe I should organize this stuff...I thought to myself before shrugging and leaving the mess on my bed to walk out the door - quickly locking it behind me - and heading to lunch.

There was already a long line of children in the dining room and several groups of children sitting. I scanned the room for Drew. Instead Jelly and Caterax in line talking to one another. They looked like they were having a good time for a moment I wondered if they would be okay with me joining them. Suddenly Caterax caught my eye and glared, stamping out that thought process. Instead, I shuffled over to the end of the line.

"I don't know how the fucking albino does it Matt!" Someone whined. I turn to the voice and saw Mello leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, glaring at the few kids that were sitting down, trying to ignore him. There was one person between us,

There was one person between us, some random figure with messy hair and a striped shirt. His head bent low over a electronic device as he answered, "Does what?"

"Get a higher score than me! He has to be cheating."

"You know he is at least as smart as you."

"What was that?"

Matt sighed, "I'm just saying that you're better at him in other areas."

"Like what?"

"Um…" There was a slight pause where the tall boy paused his obnoxious device and put it in his back pocket. "you're a likeable person."

I didn't mean to find that so funny, but suddenly Mello had pushed Matt out of the way to confront me. His eyes glimmered in recognition and his face started to turn red. "What are laughing for, you fucking mute?"

"Nothing," I signed, backing up a bit. He followed, his eye glowering darkly.

"Obviously it's not nothing, I want to know what's so damned funny!"

I flushed in anger, my body heating up. What the fuck? Was he posturing me? Today? I already wasn't having a good day, why did he have to antagonize me today?! I straightened my back and signed back. "You are not a 'likeable person'. A likeable person does not posture people for having an adverse opinion of them. A likeable person doesn't accost them the first time they meet!"

"Ya?" His eyes narrowed. I could see the gears turning in his head, his blonde hair shifting as he bent forward just a bit. "At least I'm not fake."

I snorted, fighting back a laugh. "You're not fake?"

He hummed, "No. At least, not like you."

What did he mean by that? What the fuck? I could see a glimmer of something in Mello's eyes. Something nasty but altogether gleeful.

"Come on Mello," Matt grabbed his shoulder. I had a small sense of deja vu. "She's not worth it."

"Oh no, she needs to be taught her place." He pulled his shoulder from Matt's grasp and move closer.

"No, you, " He practically hissed, smirking. "You're obviously a fake...a nobody just floating through." The dining room was deafeningly silent. "Wammy's gets people like you from time to time. Come and go. They get kicked out or they violate the rules because they can't keep up."

I felt myself bristle. "Are you saying that I would cheat?"

"I'm not saying you're a fence!"

"Fuck you!"

"My what language. And what about your muteness? It's obviously selective. I heard that you were singing a couple of days ago."

"Where did you hear that?"

"A little birdie told me." He took a step forward. "So tell me, what's the reason you pretend to be unable to talk? Want to be noticed? Sympathy?"

"It's none of you business."

"Oh, but it is. It's everyone's."

"No it isn't!"

"Yes, it is."

"Fuck you."

"You've already said that. You're going in circles Miss Flia-" A sharp sound echoed through the dining room. It was only when my hand started to sting did I realize that I had slapped him. I took a step back and glanced up.

I instantly regretted that.

_Jesus...why was I having such a bad day?_

Mello was standing there, his face contorted. His face was a deep red and he was beginning to breath raggedly. His eyes were piercing, the blue irises were pinpricks as his gaze raked over to me. I felt a shiver go down my spin; this look was similar to the hide and seek game. But this wasn't a game. This time, the intensity was thick. Deadly. Palpable. I could feel the anger as if it swirled around me like mist. It made my knees weak. And I kind of wanted to throw up…

Suddenly Matt's arms were wrapped around Mello's torso as the blonde writhed and clawed at his arms. "Kid," He grunted over Mello's profane cursing. "You might want to make yourself scarce."

I absently nodded and ran from the room, up the stairs and to my room.

* * *

**AN:**

I suppose this a long time coming…but I'm going to respond to the reviews I've gotten!

Lucifea: I see it's been a while. I hope you are continuing to read...it's been 8 chapters since you reviewed and I am very sorry for the delay! I hope I have lived up to your expectations!

God of Twilight: I've read some of your stories and I have to say that I loved them! I appreciate the compliment! I really want to emphasize B's thought process in every way. She hasn't met Matt yet, but I could see them being great friends.

MyTypeOfGuyIsFictional: Very interesting screen name. I like it. I hope I've fixed the couple of grammar mistakes you saw...I'm really bad about wanting to post chapters right away without editing them. Honestly...I think it might be a problem. I'm not impatient, but I think it might be hurting your guys' thoughts of me, especially when you all get a message that says I've updated, but the content is riddled with mistakes. Perhaps it's a habit that I have to break….

PondRiverWilliams: I see you have figured out something about the future of the story. Shhhhh….don't tell. Also, kudos to you for reviewing twice! Your the first one to do that for this story….. To answer your additional statement about B being good at something: she will be. I promise. It's a school for gifted children. Trust me. I'll move her along in that department. She barely got in...let you develop some of her neutral kill before she discovers something that she is good at.

As of the update of my seventh chapter February 1, 2015 I've gotten five reviews! Thank you so much for all of you support and love! I really appreciate all of your feedback and I will try to continue to make adjustments as you guys point them out!

Much love!

AAnnR


	12. The Project Arc: Chapter 12

_Disclaimer: It would be interesting if I owned Death Note…but I don't._

**AN**: I kind of want to give you guys a break from the normal story chapters….while this chapter is still relevant, it's more of a peek into the background of Heather's life. It puts into stone what has already been hinted and said, so there's not sudden plot twists. I think. And, if I were you, I would be paying attention to the dates that appear right before the chapter number….if you don't many of you are probably going to get horribly confused. And I want to apologize….this chapter is _much_ shorter than the recent ones, but I could update much sooner because it was shorter and easier to edit.

* * *

**Story Arc 1: The Project**

**March 25th, 2004**

_**Chapter 12**_

England's spring was torturously cool, which was a drastic different from Arizona's own hot, dusty spring. The rain was sporadic - each day was basically Russian roulette what with the randomness of time and day of England's precipitation. Sometimes it was for ten minutes, others it was for days. It seemed as if England's weather had the temperament of a menopausal woman with it's seemingly non-meditative floods. When it was sunny it wasn't that much of a break either, rather the heat from the sun seduced any kind of moisture in anything to raise itself into the air and suffocate everyone and everything in a blanket of humidity.

We had the immediate displeasure of living in an unairconditioned apartment in the heavily crowded lower class district of London. Where masses of displeasing-ly odored people lived stacked on top of each other in ill regulated (and certainly not code regulated) constructed concrete structures with nothing but thin, papery partitions separated each family's privacy from another.

Which meant, while we knew everyone else's business, they all of ours as well. They knew when my father left in the afternoon and if he returned early the next morning. They knew, as I did, when my mother was distraught. They knew everything. And it was unnerving and intimate.

And that was how the day greeted my mother and I.

The looks as we passed residences of our apartment were enough to silence any type of conversation we might have had. My father had come home this morning completely drunk and out of his mind. We, and the entire building, had both awakened by my father's drunk mumblings as he stumbled through the house, bumping into furniture and throwing random objects off of surfaces in frustration.

My mother had taken to sleeping with me recently. She refused to sleep in bed that would only make her realise how lonely she was - and I didn't blame her. I needed just as much comfort as she did. While my father's antics weren't all that new - it was basically the same routine here as it had been in Arizona - I had hoped that the change in location would have helped to safe my father from his habits.

I think my mother had assumed the same because each time my father resurfaced from one of his nightly ventures my mother rose from her spot in my bed to confront him. Or perhaps it was more confrontation than it was anything else -and they were, more often than not, violent on some degree. Usually, as things escalated, it was my father who would throw objects. But sometimes my mother would equivocate his drunk rage with her own.

Today was the aftermath of one of those instances.

When I finally had taken up the courage to rise - certainly after everything had calmed down and was silent - I was met with a sort of war zone. Shards of broken glass and tempered clay littered the floor. Several pieces of furniture had been tipped over and thrown across the room from where they had originally been: the kitchen table was leaning against the couch in the living room while one of the end tables had been picked up and tossed halfway into the hallway.

After I attempted some kind of clean up in the living room and kitchen, I searched the apartment for my mother and father. While I didn't find my father (I could probably assume that he had left earlier), I did locate my mother in their bed, sleeping.

It was always after one of these particular fights that my mother and I dared to leave the apartment to go out and grocery shop. It was nice to get out; today was uncharacteristically bright and warm. I enjoyed feeling sun on my skin as my mother and I walked to the store. It felt so good to be outside I could almost forget the disastrous night. But my mother was struggling with it: her hand clutched mine in a stoney, unwavering grip - as if she were using my presence as a lifeline to reality.

And I tried my best to use our humane connection to ground her, to tell her that everything was alright. I wanted to be her reassurance - her rock. But I could see - the only way a child born into those circumstances could see. She was breaking. Her fire was burning out and I had no way to stoke the coals….no wood to add to her soul.

It hurt to see my mother slowly wither away. I could remember when she was vibrant, with a temperament and love of Jesus Christ himself...a stark contrast to the broken crust of a woman attached to my hand.

The air was thick with tension and humidity. My mother kept her eyes forward, searching for something in the distance. I kept my gaze low, tracing the cracks on the sidewalk; I used to avoid stepping on them in an effort to safe my mother from a terrible fate, now I just wished that the forces that made it happen would save her from her suffering.

As I was lost in my own self-loathing musing my mother froze mid-step. I was yanked back from my own progression and I almost fell on my butt. Righting myself, I glared up at my mother. And what I saw caused me to freeze any form of protest.

She was staring straight ahead just as normal, but her face contorted in the most terrifying display of fear I had ever seen. Her jaw was open and jutted forward, her already pale skin was electrifyingly white.

I followed her gaze, wondering what immortal being could scare my mother so much.

Walking towards us were four large men in suits. Their eyes were covered by sunglasses, but their features were anything but friendly. They walked with sort of determination that could have been mistaken as confidence. But no, their postures stood stalk straight. Ridged. As if they were ready for anything. And I suppose they really were, because they started sprinting when my mother violently yanked me around. She practically dragged me as she sprinted back down the street.

For a couple blocks, I stumbled along behind her, practically flailing in her wake when she stopped and whipped around, her face flushed and angry, "Do you think this is a game?" She looked behind me and I saw a flash of despair cross her face. "Run."

The word didn't register. Without her? With her? What did she _mean?_

Her gaze flicked down to me, "Run!" She pushed me behind her before she charged at the men, screaming back at me, "Run Heather! RUN!"

And I did. I ran. And ran. And ran. I ran until I was certain that the men were no longer follow me. Until I was certain that no one could ever find me, because I knew if I didn't know where I was no one else would either. Until my feet ached, because I knew another step would put even more distance between me and the men. Until I was practically limping down the sidewalk, because I knew the pain was distracting me. Until I collapsed in front of a police station, because I knew that they could, for the first time, help me. Until I was questioned, because I knew they could save my mother. Until I was transferred to Wammy's, because I knew I would be safer. Until I was in my room, because I knew that I could finally rest.

* * *

**AN:**

Okay….I'm going to respond the reviews who reviewed the story since the last chapter!

**chubbypanda10:** Here is an update for you! I'm glad you are enjoying the story so far! I know I am loving writing it! I hope this chapter and future chapters continue to make you interested! Much love to you! P.S. - Your username is just the cutest little thing!

**Kinetic:** I am so glad you are excited for the next chapter! I am too! I hope you continue to enjoy the chapters….I'm doing my best to get them written and out to you guys!


End file.
